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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


PN6161 
.H3235 
1867 


.,-> 


21 


m  § 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


10001249490 


This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
the  last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it 
may  be  renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


JAN  1  8  199! 


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FEB15'92 


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Form  No.  513, 
Rev,  1/84 


SUT  LOVINGOOD'S  YARIS. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/sutlovingopdyarnhafr 


SUT  L0V1NG00D. 

YARNS   SPUN 


' 


"NAT'RAL    BORN  DURN'D  FOOL. 


WARPED  AND  WOVE  FOR  PUBLIC  WEAR, 


it 


GEORGE    W.    HARRIS. 


"A  little  nonsense,  now  and  then. 
Is  relished  by  the  wisest  men." 

'Suppose  I  am  to  hang  the  morrow,  and 
Can  laugh  to-night,  shall  I  not  ?"— Old  Plat- 


DICK  &   FITZGERALD,  PUBLISHERS 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

DICK  &  FITZGERALD. 

In    the    Clerk's   Office   of  the  District  Court   of  the  United   States  for    the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


"You  must  have  a  preface,  Sut ;  your  book  will  then  be  ready. 
What  shall  I  write  ?" 

"Well,  ef  I  must,  I  must  ;  fur  I  s'pose  the  perducktion  cud  no 
more  show  hitsef  in  publick  wifout  hit,  than  a  coffin-maker  cud  wif 
out  black  clothes,  an'  yet  what's  the  use  ove  either  ove  em,  in  pint  ove 
good  sense?  Smells  tu  me  sorter  like  a  durned  humbug,  the  hole 
ove  hit— a  littil  like  cuttin  ove  the  Ten  Cummandmints  intu  the  rine 
ove  a  warter-million  ;  hits  jist  slashed  open  an'  the  inside  et  outen 
hit,  the  rine  an'  the  cummandmints  broke  all  tu  pieces  an'  flung  tu 
the  hogs,  an'  never  tho't  ove  onst — them,  nur  the  'tarnil  fool  what 
cut  em  thar.  But  ef  a  orthur  mus'  take  off  his  shoes  afore  he  goes 
intu  the  publick's  parlor,  I  reckon  I  kin  du  hit  wifout  durtyin  my 
feet,  fur  I  hes  socks  on. 

"  Sumtimes,  George,  I  wishes  I  cud  read  an'  write,  jis'  a  littil  ;  but 
then  hits  bes'  es  hit  am,  fur  ove  all  the  fools  the  worild  hes  tu  contend 
wif,  the  edicated  wuns  am  the  worst  ;  they  breeds  ni  ontu  all  the 
devilment  a-gwine  on.  But  I  wer  a-thinkin,  ef  I  cud  write  mysef, 
hit  wud  then  raley  been  my  book.  I  jis'  tell  yu  now,  I  don't  like  the 
qq  idear  ove  yu  writin  a  perduckshun,  an'  me  a-findin  the  brains.  'Taint 
<3  the  fust  case  tho'  on  record  by  a  durned  site.  Usin  uther  men's 
brains  is  es  lawful  es  usin  thar  plunder,  an'  jis'  es  common,  so  I 
don't  keer  much  nohow.     I  dusn't  'speck  this  yere  perduckshun  will 


*- 


in 


X  PREFACE. 

sit  purfeckly  quiet  ontu  the  stumicks  ove  sum  pussons— them  hu  hea 
a  holesum  fear  ove  the  devil,  an'  orter  hev  hit,  by  geminey.  Now, 
fur  thar  speshul  well-bein  herearter,  I  hes  jis'  this  tu  say :  Ef  yu  ain't 
fond  ove  the  smell  ove  cracklins,  stay  outen  the  kitchin  ;  ef  yu  is 
fear'd  ove  smut,  yu  needn't  climb  the  chimbley ;  an'  ef  the  moon 
hurts  yer  eyes,  don't  yu  ever  look  at  a  Dutch  cheese.  That's  jis'  all 
ove  hit. 

"  Then  thar's  sum  hu  haint  much  faith  in  thar  repertashun  standin 
much  ove  a  strain  ;  they'll  be  powerful  keerful  how  an'  whar  they 
reads  my  words.  Now,  tu  them  I  haint  wun  word  tu  say  :  they  hes 
been  preached  to,  an'  prayed  fur,  now  ni  ontu  two  thousand  years 
an'  I  won't  dart  weeds  whar  thuty-two  poun  shot  bounces  back. 

"Then  thar's  the  book-butchers,  orful  on  killin  an'cuttinup,  but 
cud  no  more  perjuce  a  book,  than  a  bull-butcher  cud  perjuce  a  bull. 
S'pose  they  takes  a  noshun  tu  stick,  skin,  an'  cut  up  this  yere  one. 
Ef  they  is  fond  ove  sicknin  skeers,  I  advises  em  tu  take  holt  tu  onst ; 
but  fust  I  begs  tu  refer  em  respectively  tu  the  fate  ove  three  misfor 
tinit  pussons  menshun'd  inside  yere — Passun  Bullin,  Dock  Fabin,  an 
Sheriff  Dolton.  Eead  keerfully  what  happened  tu  them  afore  yu 
takes  eny  ove  my  flesh  ontu  yer  claws,  ur  my  blood  ontu  yer  bills,  an' 
that  I  now  is  a  durnder  fool  then  I  wer  in  them  days,  fur  I  now  con- 
siders mysef  a  orthur.  I  hes  tuck  my  stan  amung  the  nashuns  ove 
the  yeath,  fur  I,  too,  hes  made  me  a  book,  so  ef  enybody  wants  dish 
rags,  I  thinks  hit  wud  be  more  healthy  fur  em  not  tu  tare  em  ofen 
my  flag. 

"Mos'  book-weavers  seem  tu  be  skeery  folks,  fur  ginerlly  they 
cums  up  tu  the  slaughter  pen,  whinin  an'  waggin  thar  tails,  a-sayin 
they  '  knows  they  is  imparfeck' — that  •  yu'd  scace  'speck  one  ove  my 
ge,'  an*  so  forth,  so  on,  so  along.     Now  ef  I  is  a-rowin  in  that  boat,  I 


PBEFACE.  XI 

ain't  awar  ove  hit,  I  ain't,  fur  I  knows  the  tremenjus  gif  I  hes  fui 
breedin  skeers  amung  durned  fools,  an'  then  I  hes  a  trustin  rehance 
ontu  the  fidelity,  injurance,  an'  speed  ove  these  yere  laigs  ove  mine 
to  tote  me  an'  my  sins  away  beyant  all  human  ritribushuns  ur  revenge. 
Now,  'zamin  yer  hans,  ole  ferrits  an'  weazels,  an'  ef  yu  don't  hole  bqf 
bowers  an'  the  ace,  yu  jis'  'pass'  hit.  / 

' '  Ef  eny  poor  misfortinit  devil  hu's  heart  is  onder  a  mill-stone, 
hu's  raggid  children  am  hungry,  an'  no  bread  in  the  dresser,  hu  is 
down  in  the  mud,  an'  the  lucky  ones  a-trippin  him  every  time  he 
struggils  tu  his  all  fours,  hu  hes  fed  the  famishin  an'  is  now  hungry 
hissef,  hu  misfortins  foller  fas'  an'  foller  faster,  hu  is  so  foot-sore  an 
weak  that  he  wishes  he  wer  at  the  ferry — ef  sich  a  one  kin  fine  a 
laugh,  jis'  one,  sich  a  laugh  as  is  remembered  wif  his  keerless  boy- 
hood, atwixt  these  yere  kivers — then,  I'll  thank  God  that  I  hes  made 
a  book,  an'  feel  that  I  hev  got  my  pay  in  full. 

"Make  me  a  Notey  Beney,  George.  I  wants  tu  put  sumwhar 
atween  the  eyebrows  ove  our  book,  in  big  winnin-lookin  letters,  the 
sarcbin,  meanin  words,  what  sum  pusson  writ  ontu  a  'oman's  garter 
onst,  long  ago " 

"  Evil  be  to  him  that  evil  thinks." 

"  Them's  em,  by  jingo  !  hed  em  clost  apas'  yu,  didn't  yu?  I  want 
em  fur  a  gineral  skeer — speshully  fur  the  wimen. 

"Now,  George,  grease  hit  good,  an'  let  hit  slide  down  the  hill  hit« 
own  way." 


DEDICATORY. 


"  Well,  Sut,  your  stories  are  all  ready  for  the  printer  ; 
to  whom  do  you  wish  to  dedicate  the  work  ?" 

"  I  don't  keer  much,  George  ;  haint  hit  a  kine  ove  lick- 
skillet  bisness,  enyhow — sorter  like  the  waggin  ove  a 
dorg's  tail,  when  he  sees  yu  eatin  ove  sassengers  ?  But 
yere  goes  :  How  wud  Anner  Dickinson  du  tu  pack  hit 
ontu  ?" 

"  Oh,  Sut,  that  would  never  do.  What !  dedicate  such 
nonsense  as  yours  to  a  woman  ?     How  will  this  do? 

DEDICATED  TO 
THE     MEMORY    OF 

ELBBJDGE  GEEKY  EASTMAN, 

THE    ABLE    EDITOR,  AND    FINISHED    GENTLEMAN,    THE    FRIEND,  WHOSE    KINDLY 

VOICE  FIRST  INSPIRED   MY  TIMID  PEN  WITH  HOPE. 

GRATEFUL  MEMORY 

DROPS  A  TEAR  AMONG  THE  FLOWERS,    AS  AFFECTION  STREWS  THEM 

O'ER  HIS  GRAVE." 

"  Won't  begin  tu  du,  George.  The  idear  ove  enybody 
bein  grateful,  ur  rememberin  a  dead  friend  now-a-days ! 


XIV  DEDICATORY. 

Why,  if  that  wer  tu  git  out  onto  me,  I'd  never  be  able  tu 
mix  in  decent  s'ciety  while  I  lived.  Tare  that  up, 
George." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  this,  Sut  ? 


WILLIAM  CRUTCHFIELD,  OF  CHATTANOOGA, 

MY  FRIEND  IN  STORM    AND   SUNSHINE,    BRAVE  ENOUGH  TO  BE  TRUE,   AND  TBUK 

ENOUGH  TO   BE  SINGULAR  ;  ONE  WHO  SAYS  WHAT  HE  THINKS, 

AND  VERY  OFTEN  THINKS  WHAT  HE  SAYS." 

"  That  won't  du  either,  hoss.  'Tis  mos'  es  bad  tu  be 
grateful  tu  the  livin  es  the  dead.  I  tell  yu  hit  ain't 
smart.  Ef  ever  yu  is  grateful  at  all,  show  hit  tu  them 
what  yu  expeck  will  du  a  favor,  never  tu  the  'tarnil  fool 
what  hes  dun  hit.  Never  es  yu  expeck  tu  git  tu  heaven, 
never  pay  far  a  ded  hoss.  An'  more,  every  fice  ur  houn 
dorg  what  either  him  ur  me  has  wallop'd  fur  thar  nasti- 
ness,  wud  open  ontu  our  trail — ontu  him  fur  buyin  me, 
an'  ontu  me  fur  bein  bought.  No,  George,  I'll  do  ontill 
Bill  gets  poor  ur  dus  sum  devilmint.  I'll  tell  yu  what 
I'll  du,  I'll  jis'  dedercate  this  yere  perduction  tu  the 
durndest  fool  in  the  United  States,  an'  Massachusets  too, 
he  or  she.  An  then,  by  golly,  I'll  jis*  watch  hu  claims 
hit." 

"  Very  well,  Sut  ;  how  shall  I  write  it  ?  how  designate 
the  proper  one  ?" 


DEDICATOBY.  XV 

"  Jis'  this  way  ;  hits  the  easiest  dun  thing  in   the 
world: 

DEDERCATED 

■WIT  THE   STMPEETHTS   OVE  THE   OBTHUB, 

TU  THE  MAN  UK  'OMAN,  HUEVEE  THEY  BE, 

WHAT  DOISPT  READ  THIS  YERE  BOOK. 

Don't  that  kiver  the  case  tu  a  dot?  Hu  knows  bu^ 
what  I'se  dedercatin  hit  tu  mysef  at  las'.  Well,  I  don't 
keer  a  durn,  I  kin  stan  hit,  ef  the  rest  ove  em  kin." 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

•/Sut  Lovtnggod's  Daddy,  Acting  Hobse 19 

Sur's  New  Fangled  Shxrt,  (a  brilliant  idea)       ....  29 

./The  Widow  McCloud's  Maee 37 

/Parson  Bullin's  Lizaeds,  (retributiou) 48 

■S  A  Bazob  Geindek  in  a  Thundkb  Stoem 60 

s  Old  Skissim's  Middle  Boy          - 66 

y  Blown  up  with  Soda   .     .  .      .    75 

^  Sicily  Buens's  "Wedding 86 

.•Old  Buens's  Bull  Bide 98 

sljake-bit  ieishman 108 

Eaves-deopping  a  Lodge  of  Free-masons 114 

Taueus  in  Lynchburg  Market 123 

<s  Mes.  Yaedley's  Quilting 134 

Sut  Lovtngood's  Dog 149 

Sut  Assisting  at  a  Negeo  Night-Meeting 157 

^Sut's  Seemon — "Ye  Cat  Fishe  Tavern" 173 

,  Baet  Davk's  Dance  (a  lively  time) 181 

J  Tbtpetown — Twenty  Minutes  foe  Beeakfast    .       .       .       .193 

•Hen  Bally's  Befobmation 198 

v  Frustrating  a  Funeeal  (never  to  be  read  by  candle  light)    .  210 

v  Bare  Bd?e  Garden-seed  (for  newly  married  folks)       .       .       .  227 

t/Contempt  of  Court — Almost 245 

j/Tbapping  a  Shebeff  (a  vile  conspiracy)     ......  256 

v  Dad's  Dog  School  ("jist  like  'im") 278 


* 


SUT  LOVDfGOOD'S  DADDY,  ACTING  HORSE. 


"Hole  that  ar  hoss  down  tu  the  yeath."  "He's  a 
fixin  fur  the  heavings."  "  He's  a  spreadin  his  tail 
feathers  tu  fly.  Look  out,  Laigs,  if  you  aint  ready 
tu  go  up'ards."  "  Wo,  Shavetail."  "  Git  a  fiddil ;  he's 
tryin  a  jig."  "Say,  Long  Laigs,  rais'd  a  power  ove 
co'n  didn't  yu  ?"     "  Taint  co'n,  hits  redpepper." 

These  and  like  expressions  were  addressed  to  a  queer 
looking,  long  legged,  short  bodied,  small  headed,  white  J 
haired,  hog  eyed,  funny   sort   of  a  genius,  fresh  from  ^ 
some   bench-legged  Jew's   clothing  store,  mounted  on 
"  Tearpoke,"  a  nick  tailed,  bow  necked,  long,  poor,  pale 
sorrel  horse,  half  dandy,  half  devil,  and  enveloped  in  a 
perfect  net-work  of  bridle,  reins,  crupper,  martingales, 
straps,  surcingles,  and  red  ferreting,  who  reined  up  in 
front  of  Pat  Nash's  grocery,  among  a  crowd  of  moun- 
taineers full  of  fun,  foolery,  and  mean  whisky. 
This  was  Sut  Lovingood. 

"  I  say,  you  durn'd  ash  cats,  jis'  keep  yer  shuts  on, 
will  ye?    You  never  seed  a  rale  iioss,  till  I  rid  up; 


20        sut  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  house. 

you's  p'raps  stole  ur  owned  shod  rabbits  ur  sheep  wif 
borrerd  saddils  on,  but  when  you  tuck  the  fus'  be- 
grudgin  look  jis'  now  at  this  critter,  name  Tarpoke,  yu 
wer  injoyin  a  sight  ove  nex'  tu  the  bes'  hoss  what 
ever  shell'd  nubbins  ur  toted  jugs,  an'  he's  es  ded  es  a 
still  wum,  poor  ole  Tickytail ! 

"  "Wo !  wo !  Tarpoke,  yu  cussed  infunel  fidgety 
hide  full  ove  hell  fire,  can't  yu  stan'  still  an  listen 
while  I'se  a  polishin  yer  karacter  off  es  a  mortul  hoss 
tu  these  yere  durned  fools  ?" 

Sut's  tongue  or  his  spurs  brought  Tearpoke  into 
something  like  passable  quietude  while  he  continued : 

n  Say  yu,  sum  ove  yu  growin  hogs  made  a  re-mark 
jis'  now  'bout  redpepper.  I  jis'  wish  tu  say  in  a  gine- 
ral  way  that  eny  wurds  cupplin  redpepper  an  Tarpoke 
tugether  am  durn'd  infurnal  lies." 

"What  killed  Tickeytail,  Sut?"  asked  an  anxious  in- 
quirer after  truth. 

"Why  nufnn,  you  cussed  fool ;  he  jis'  died  so,  stand- 
in  up  et  that  Warn't  that  rale  casteel  hoss  pluck? 
Yu  see,  he  froze  stiff;  no,  not  that  adzactly,  but  starv'd 
fust,  an'  froze  arterards,  so  stiff  that  when  dad  an'  me 
went  tu  lay  him  out  an'  we  push'd  him  over,  he  stuck 
out  jis'  so,  (spreading  his  arms  and  legs,)  like  ontu  a 
carpenter's  bainch,  an'  we  hed  tu  wait  ni  ontu  seventeen 
days  fur  'im  tu  thaw  afore  we  cud  skin  'im." 

"Skin  'im?"  interrupted  a  rat-faced  youth,  whittling 
on  a  com  gtalk,  "  I  thot  yu  wanted  tu  lay  the  hoss  out" 


sut  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  horse.         21 

"  The  hell  yu  did  !  Aint  skinin  the  natral  way  ove 
layin  out  a  hoss,  I'd  like  tu  no  ?  See  a  yere,  soney, 
yu  tell  yer  mam  tu  hev  yu  sot  back  jis'  bout  two  years, 
fur  et  the  rate  yu'se  a  climbin  yu  stan's  a  pow'ful  chance 
tu  die  wif  yer  shoes  on,  an'  git  laid  hoss  way,  yu  dus." 

The  rat-faced  youth  shut  up  his  knife  and  subsided. 

"  "Well,  thar  we  wer — dad,  an'  meA  (counting  on  his 
fingers,)  an'  Sail,  an'  Jake,  (fool  Jake  we  calls  'im  fur 
short,)  an'  Jim,  an'  Phineass,  an'  Callimy  Jane,  an'  Shar- 
lottyann,  an'  me,  an'  Zodiack,  an'  Cashus  Clay,  an' 
Noah  Dan  Webster,  an'  the  twin  gals,  (Castur  and 
Pollox,)  an'  me,  an'  Catherin  Second,  an'  Cleopatry 
Antony,  an'  Jane  Barnum  Lind,  an'  me,  an'  Benton 
Bullion,  an'  the  baby  what  haint  nam'd  yet,  an'  me, 
an'  the  Prospect,  an'  mam  hersef,  all  lef  in  the  woods 
alone,  wifout  ara  hoss  tu  crup  wif" 

"Yu'se  counted  yersef  five  times,  Mister  Lovin- 
good,"  said  a  tomato-nosed  man  in  ragged  overcoat 

"  Yas,  ole  Still-tub,  that's  jis  the  perporshun  I  bears  in 
the  famerly  fur  dam  fool,  leavin  out  Dad  in  course. 
Yu  jis  let  me  alone,  an'  be  a  thinkin  ove  gittin  mora 
hoops  ontuyu.  Yus  leakinnow;  see  thar."  Ha!  ha  I 
from  the  crowd,  and  "  Still-tub "  went  into  the  dog 
gery. 

"  Warnt  that  a  devil's  own  mess  ove  broth  fur  a  'speo 
tabil  white  famerly  tu  be  sloshin  about  in  ?  I  be  durned 
ef  I  didn't  feel  sorter  like  stealin  a  hoss  sumtimes,  an'  I 
speck  I'd  a  dun  hit,  but  the  stealin  streak  in  the  Lovin- 


22       sitt  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  horse. 

goods,  all  run  tu  dumed  'fool,  an'  the  onvartus  streak 
all  run  tu  laigs.  Jis  look  down  the  side  ove  this  yere 
hoss  rnos'  tu  the  groun'.     Dus  yu  see  em  ? 

"  Well  we  waited,  an'  wished,  an'  rested,  an'  plan'd, 
an'  wished,  an'  waited  agin,  ontil  ni  ontu  strawberry 
time,  hopin  sum  stray  hoss  mout  cum  along ;  but  dorg 
my  cats,  ef  eny  sich  good  luck  ever  cums  wifin  reach 
ove  whar  dad  is,  he's  so  dod-dratted  mean,  an'  lazy,  an' 
ugly,  an'  savidge,  an'  durn  fool  tu  kill. 

"  "Well,  one  nite  he  lay  awake  till  cock-crowin  a-snor- 
tin,  an'  rollin,  an'  blowin,  an'  shumin,  an'  scratchin  his- 
sef,  an'  a  whisperin  at  mam  a  heap,  an'  at  breckfus' 
I  foun'  out  what  hit  ment.  Says  he,  '  Sut,  I'll  tell  yu 
what  we'll  du:  I'll  be  hoss  mysef,  an'  pull  the  plow 
whilst  yu  drives  me,  an'  then  the  "  Ole  Quilt  "  (he  ment 
that  fur  mam,)  an'  the  brats  kin  plant,  anv  tend,  ur  jis 
let  hit  alone,  es  they  darn  pleze;  I  aint  a  carein.' 

"  So  out  we  went  tu  the  pawpaw  thicket,  an'  peel'd  a 
rite  smart  chance  ove  bark,  an'  mam  an'  me  made 
geers  fur  dad,  while  he  sot  on  the  fence  a-lookin  at  us, 
an'  a  studyin  pow'rful.  I  arterards  foun'  out,  he  wen 
a-studyin  how  tu  play  the  kar-acter  ove  a  hoss  puf- 
fectly. 

i  "  Well,  the  geers  becum  him  mitily,  an'  nuffin  wud 
du  'im  but  he  mus  hev  a  bridil,  so  I  gits  a  umereller 
brace — hit's  a  litil  forked  piece  ove  squar  wire  bout  a 
foot  long,  like  a  yung  pitch-fork,  yu  no — an'  twisted  hit 
sorter  intu  a  bridil  bit  snaffil  shape.     Dad  wanted  hit 


sut  lovdstgood's  daddy,  acting  horse.       23 

made  kurb,  es  lie  hedn't  work'd  fur  a  good  while,  an' 
said  lie  mout  sorter  feel  his  keepin,  an'  go  tu  ravin  an* 
cavortin. 

"  When  we  got  the  bridil  fix'd  ontu  dad,  don't  yu  bleve  \ 
he  sot  in  tu  chompin  hit  jis  like  a  rale  hoss,  an'  tried   { 
tu  bite  me  on  the  arm,  (he  allers  wer  a  mos'  complika- 
ted  durned   ole  fool,  an'  mam   sed  so  when  he  warnt 
about.)     I  put  on  the  geers,  an'  while  mam  wer  a-tyin 
the  belly  ban',  a-strainin  hit  pow'rful  tite,  he  drapt  ontu 
his   hans,  sed    'Whay-a-a'  like  a  mad  hoss  wud,  an' 
slung  his  hine  laigs  at  mam's  hed.     She  step'd  back  a 
littil  an'  wer  standin  wif  her  arms  cross'd  a-restin  em 
on  her  stumick,  an'  his  heel  taps  cum  wifin  a  inch  ove    j 
her  nose.     Sez  she,    '  Yu  plays  hoss  better  nur  yu  dus 
husban.'     He  jis'  run  backards  on  all  fours,  an'  kick'd  at 
her  agin,  an' an'  pawd  the  groun  wif  his  fis. 

"  '  Lead  him  off  tu  the  field,  Sut,  afore  he  kicks  ur 
bites  sumbody,'  sez  mam.  I  shoulder'd  the  gopher 
plow,  an'  tuck  hole  ove  the  bridil.  Dad  leaned  back 
sulky,  till  I  sed  cluck  cluck  wif  my  tounge,  then  he 
started.  When  we  cum  tu  the  fence  I  let  down  the 
gap,  an'  hit  made  dad  mad ;  he  wanted  tu  j  ump  hit  on 
all  fours  hoss  way.  Oh'  geminy !  what  a  durn'd  ole 
fool  kin  cum  tu  ef  he  gins  up  tu  the  complaint. 

"  I  hitch'd  'im  tu  the  gopher,  a-watchin  him  pow'ful 
clost,  fur  I'd  see  how  quick  he  cud  drap  ontu  his  hans, 
an'  kick,  an'  away  we  went,  dad  leanin  forard  tu  his 
pullin,  an'  we  made  rite  peart  plowin,  fur  tu  hev  a  green 


24       sut  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  horse. 

hoss,  an'  bark  gears ;  lie  went  over  the  sprowts  an'  bushea 
same  as  a  rale  boss,  only  be  traveled  on  two  laigs.  I 
W3r  mitily  bope  up  bout  co'n ;  I  cud  a'mos'  see  hit  a 
cumin  up ;  but  thar's  a  heap  ove  whisky  spilt  twixt  the 
counter  an'  the  mouf,  ef  hit  ain't  got  but  two  foot  tu 
travil.  'Bout  the  time  he  wer  beginin  tu  break  sweat, 
we  cum  tu  a  sassafrack  bush,  an  tu  keep  up  his 
kar-acter  es  a  hoss,  he  buljed  squar  intu  an'  thru  hit, 
tarin  down  a  ball  ho'nets  nes'  ni  ontu  es  big  es  a  hoss's 
hed,  an'  the  hole  tribe  kiver'd  'im  es  quick  es  yu  cud 
kiver  a  sick  pup  wif  a  saddil  blanket.  He  lit  ontu 
his  hans  agin,  an  kick'd  strait  up  onst,  then  he  rar'd, 
an'  fotch  a  squeal  wus  nur  ara  stud  hoss  in  the  State,  an' 
sot  in  tu  strait  runnin  away  jis  es  natral  es  yu  ever 
seed  any  uther  skeer'd  hoss  du.  I  let  go  the  line  an' 
holler'd,  Wo !  dad,  wo  !  but  yu  mout  jis'  es  well  say 
Woa !  tu  a  locomotum,  ur  Suke  cow  tu  a  gal. 

"  Gewhillitins  !  how  he  run :  when  he  cum  tu  bushes, 
he'd  clar  the  top  ove  em  wif  a  squeal,  gopher  an'  all. 
P'raps  he  tho't  thar  mout  be  anuther  settilment  ove 
ball  ho'nets  thar,  an'  hit  wer  safer  tu  go  over  than 
thru,  an'  quicker  dun  eny  how.  Every  now  an'  then 
he'd  fan  the  side  ove  his  hed,  fust  wif  wun  fore  laig 
an'  then  tuther,  then  he'd  gin  hissef  a  roun-handed  slap 
what  soundid  like  a  waggin  whip  ontu  the  place  whar 
the  breechbands  tetches  a  hoss,  a-runnin  all  the  time 
an'  a-kerrin  that  ar  gopher  jis  'bout  as  fas'  an'  es  hi 
frum  the  j  eath  es  ever  eny  gopher  wer  kerried  I'll  swae 


8UT  LOVINGOOD'S   DADDY  ACTING   HORSE. 


"  H«  seemM  tti  run  jis  adzactly  es  fas'  es  a  ho'net  oud  fly ;  hit  Trer  the  titest  race  I  ere* 
t—i,  far  won  hose  to  fit  all  the  whipin.'"  Page  36. 


sut  lovetoood's  daddy,  acting  horse.        25 

When  lie  cum  tu  the  fence,  he  jis  tore  thru  hit,  bustin 
an'  scatterin  ni  ontu  seven  panils  wif  lots  ove  broken 
rails.  Rite  yere  he  }ef  the  gopher,  geers,  close,  clevis, 
an'  swingltress,  all  mix'd  up,  an'  not  wuf  a  durn.  Mos' 
ove  his  shut  staid  ontu  the  aind  ove  a  rail,  an'  ni  ontu 
a  pint  ove  ho'nets  stop'd  thar  a  stingin  all  over ;  hits 
smell  fool'd  em.  The  balance  on  em,  ni  ontu  a  gallun, 
kep'  on  wif  dad.  He  seem'd  tu  run  jis  adzactly  es  fas' 
es  a  ho'net  cud  fly ;  hit  wer  the  titest  race  I  ever  seed, 
fur  wun  hoss  tu  git  all  the  whipin.  Down  thru  a  saige 
field  they  all  went,  the  ho'nets  makin  hit  look  like  thar 
wer  smoke  roun'  dad's  bald  hed,  an'  he  wif  nuffin  on 
the  green  yeath  in  the  way  ove  close  about  im,  but  the 
bridil,  an'  ni  ontu  a  yard  ove  plow  line  sailin  behine, 
wif  a  tir'd  out  ho'net  ridin  on  the  pint  ove  hit.  I  seed 
that  he  wer  aimin  fur  the  swimin  hole  in  the  krick, 
whar  the  bluff  am  over-twenty  five  foot  pupendiculer 
tu  the  warter,  an'  hits  ni  ontu  ten  foot  deep. 

"  Well,  tu  keep  up  his  karacter  es  a  hoss,  plum  thru, 
When  he  got  tu  the  bluff  he  loped  off,  ur  rather  jis' 
kep  on  a  runnin.  Kerslunge  intu  the  krick  he  went 
I  seed  the  warter  fly  plum  abuv  the  bluff  from  whar  I 
wer. 

"  Now  rite  thar,  boys,  he  over-did  the  thing,  ef  actin 
hoss  tu  the  scribe  wer  what  he  wer  arter ;  fur  thars  nara 
hoss  ever  foaldid  durned  fool  enuf  tu  lope  over  eny 
sich  place ;  a  cussed  muel  mout  a  dun  hit,  but  dad 
warn't  actin  muel,  tho'  he  orter  tuck  that  karacter ;  hits 
2 


26  SUT   LOVINGOOD  S  DADDY,   ACTING  HORSE. 

adzactly  sooted  tu  his  dispersition,  all  but  not  breedin,  ^ 
I  crept  up  tu  the  aidge,  an'  peep'd  over.  Thar  wei 
dad's  bald  bed  fur  all  the  yeatb  like  a  peeled  inyin,  a 
bobbin  up  an'  down  an'  aroun,  an'  the  bo'nets  sailin 
joun  tuckey  buzzard  fasbun,  an'  every  onst  in  a 
while  one,  an'  sum  times  ten,  wud  take  a  dip  at  dad's 
bald  head.  He  kep'  up  a  rite  peart  dodgin  onder,  sum- 
times  afore  they  hit  im,  an'  sumtimes  arterard,  an'  the 
warter  wer  kivered  wif  drownded  ball  ho'nets.  Tu 
look  at  hit  frum  the  top  ove  the  bluff,  hit  wer  pow'ful 
inturestin,  an'  sorter  funny  ;  I  wer  on  the  bluff  myse'f, 
mine  yu. 

"  Dad  cudent  see  the  funny  part  frum  whar  he  wer, 
but  hit  seem'd  tu  be  inturestin  tu  him  frum  the  'ten- 
shun  he  wer  payin  tu  the  bisness  ove  divin  an'  cus- 
sin. 

"  Sez  I,  '  Dad,  ef  yu's  dun  washin  yersef,  an  hes  drunk 
enuff,  less  go  back  tu  our  plowin,  hit  will  soon  be  pow- 
ful  hot'  '  Hot — hell !'  sez  dad ;  '  hit  am  hot  rite  now. 
Don't  (an  onder  went  his  hed)  yer  see  (dip)  these 
cussed  (dip)  infun — (dip)  varmints  arter  mer"  (dip.) 
'  What,'  sez  I,  '  them  ar  hoss  flies  thar,  that's  nat'ral,  dad ; 
you  aint  raley  fear'd  ove  them  is  yu  ?'  '  Hoss  flies  !  h — 1 
&n'  (dip)  durnation !'  sez  dad,  '  theyse  rale  ginui — (dip) 
ball  ho'nets,  (dip)  yu  infunel  ignurant  cuss !'  (dip.) 
'  Kick  em — bite  em — paw  em — switch  em  wif  yure  tail, 
dad,'  sez  I.  '  Oh !  soney,  soney,  (dip)  how  I'll  sweeten 
yure — (dip)  when  these  (dip)  ho'nets  leave  yere.'    '  Yu'd 


SUT  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  hoese.         27 

better  du  the  levin  yursef  dad,'  sez  I.  'Leave  yere ! 
Sturn  yu  d — n  fool !  How  (dip)  kin  I,  (dip)  when  they 
won't  (dip)  let  me  stay  (dip)  atop  (dip)  the  warter  even.' 
'  Well,  dad,  yu'l  hev  tu  stay  thar  till  nite,  an'  arter  they 
goes  tu  roos'  yu  cum  home.  I'll  hev  yer  feed  in  the 
troft  redy ;  yu  won't  need  eny  curyin  tu-nite  will  yu  ?' 
'  I  wish  (dip)  I  may  never  (dip)  see  to-morrer,  ef  I  (dip) 
don't  make  (dip)  hame  strings  (dip)  outer  yure  hide 
(dip)  when  I  dus  (dip)  git  outen  yere,'  sez  dad. 
'Better  say  yu  wish  yu  may  never  see  anuther  ball 
ho'net,  ef  yu  ever  play  hoss  agin,'  sez  I. 

"  Them  words  toch  dad  tu  the  hart,  an'  I  felt  they 
mus'  be  my  las,  knowin  dad's  onmollined  nater.  I 
broke  frum  them  parts,  an'  sorter  cum  over  yere  tu  the 
copper  mines.  When  I  got  tu  the  hous',  '  Whar's  yer 
dad  ?'  sez  mam.  '  Oh,  he  tum'd  durn  fool,  an'  run  away, 
busted  every  thing  all  tu  cussed  smash,  an's  in  the 
swimin  hole  a  divin  arter  minners.  Look  out  mam,  he'll 
cum  home  wif  a  angel's  temper;  better  sen'  fur  sum 
strong  man  body  tu  keep  him  frum  huggin  yu  tu  deth. 
'  Law  sakes !'  sez  mam ;  '  I  know'd  he  cudent  act  hoss 
fur  ten  minutes  wifout  actin  infunel  fool,  tu  save  his 
life.' 

"I  staid  hid  out  ontil  nex'  arternoon,  an'  I  seed  a 
feller  a-travelin'.  Sez  I,  '  How  de  do,  mister  ?  What  wer 
agwine  on  at  the  cabin,  this  side  the  crick,  when  yu 
pass'd  thar  ?'  '  Oh,  nuthin  much,  only  a  pow'ful  fat  man 
wer  a  lyin  in  the  yard  ontu  his  belly,  wif  no  shut  on, 


28        SUT  lovingood's  daddy,  acting  house. 

an'  a  'oman  wer  a  greasin  ove  his  shoulders  an'  arms 
outen  a  gourd.  A  pow'ful  curious,  vishus,  skeery  look- 
in  cuss  lie  is  tu  b'shure.  His  head  am  as  big  es  a  wash 
pot,  an'  he  hasent  the  fust  durned  sign  ove  an  eye — -jist 
two  black  slits.  Is  thar  much  small  pox  roun  yere  ?' 
'  Small  hell !'  sez  I,  '  no  sir.'  '  Been  much  fightin  in  this 
neighborhood  lately?'  'Nun  wuf  speakin  ove,'  sez  I. 
He  scratched  his  head — '  Nur  French  measils  ?'  '  Not 
jis  clost,'  sez  I.  '  Well,  do  yu  know  what  ails  that  man 
back  thar  ?'  '  Jist  gittin  over  a  vilent  attack  ove  dam 
fool,'  sez  I.  'Well,  who  is  he  eny  how?'  I  ris  tu 
my  feet,  an'  straiched  out  my  arm,  an'  sez  I,  '  Strainger, 
that  man  is  my  dad.'  He  looked  at  my  laigs  an'  pus- 
sonel  feeters  a  moment,  an'  sez  he,  'Yas,  dam  ef  he 
aint.' 

"  Now  boys,  I  haint  seed  dad  since,  an'  I  dusent  hev 
roach  appertite  tu  see  im  fur  sum  time  tu  cum.  Less 
all  drink  !  Yere's  luck  tu  the  durned  old  fool,  an'  the 
ho'nets  too. 


SUT'S   NEW-FANGLED  SHIRT. 


I  met-  Sut,  one  morning,  weaving  along  in  his  usual 
rambling  uncertain  gait.  His  appearance  satisfied  me 
at  once  that  somethinsr  was  wron^.  He  had  been  sick 
"—whipped  in  a  free  fight,  or  was  just  getting  on  his 
legs  again,  from  a  ''big  drunk." 

But  upon  this  point  I  was  soon  enlightened 

:'  Why,  Sut,  what's  wrong  now  ?"  you  look  sick. 

"  Heaps  wrong,  durn  my  skin — no  my  haslets — ef  I 
haint  mos'  ded,  an'  my  looks  don't  lie  when  they  hints 
that  I'se  sick.     I  is  sick — I'se  skin'd," 

"  Who  skinned  you — old  Bullen  ?" 

"  No,  hoss,  a  durnder  fool  nor  Bullen  did  hit ;  I  jis 
skin'd  mysef." 

"  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  did  you  do  it 
for?" 

i    "  Didn't  du  hit  in  the  name  ove  common  sense ;  did 
hit  in  the   name,  an'  wif  the  sperit,  ove  plum  natral  , 
born  durn  fool. 

"  Lite  ofen  that  ar  hoss,  an'  take  a  ho'n ;  I  wants  two 
ove   'em,  (shaking  his   constant  companion,  a  whisky 


30  sut's  new-fangled  shirt. 

flask,  at  me,)  an'  plant  yersef  ontu  that  ar  log,  an'  I'll 
tell  ef  I  kin,  but  hit's  a'mos  beyant  tellin. 

"  I'se  a  durnder  fool  nor  enybody  outside  a  Assalum, 
ur  Kongriss,  'sceptin  ove  my  own  dad,  fur  he  actid 
hoss,  an'  I  haint  tried  that  yet.  I'se  allers  intu  sum 
trap  what  wudn't  ketch  a  saidge-field  sheep.  I'll  drownd 
mysef  sum  day,  jis  see  ef  I  don't.  I  spects  that  wud 
stop  the  famerly  dispersition  tu  act  durn  fool,  so  fur  es 
Sut's  consarn'd." 

"  Well,  how  is  it  Sut ;  have  you  been  beat  playing 
cards  or  drinking?" 

"  N"ara  wun,  by  geminy !  them  jobs  can't  be  did  in 
these  yere  parts,  es  enybody  no's  on,  but  seein  hits  yu 
I'll  tell  hit.     I'se  sick-sham'd-sorry-sore-an'-mad  tu  kill,  I 
is.     Yu  no  I  boards  wif  Bill  Carr,  at  his  cabin  ontu  the 
mountin,  an'  pays  fur  sich  es  I  gits  when  I  hes  munny, 
an'  when  I  hesent  eny,  why  he  takes  wun  third  outer 
me  in  holesum  hot  cussin ;  an'  she,  that's  his  wife  Betts, 
takes  tuther  three  thirds  out  wif  the  battlin  stick,  an' 
the   intrus'  wif  her  sharp  tongue,  an'  she  takes  more 
intrus'  nur  principal.     She's  the  cussedes'  oman  I  ever 
seed   eny  how,  fur  jaw,  breedin,  an'   pride.     She  kin 
scold  a  blister  rite  plum  ontu  a  bull's  curl  in  two  min- 
its.     She  outbreeds   enything  frum  thar  tu  the  river, 
takin  in  the  minks — an'  patterns  arter  all  new  fangl'd 
fashuns  she  hears  tell  on,  frum  bussils  tu  britches.     Oh ! 
she's  wun  ove  em,  an'   sumtimes  she's  two  ur  three, 
she  is, 


/ 


sut's  new-fangled  shirt.  81 

"  Well,  yu  see  I'd  got  hole  on  sum  homade  cottin 
cloff,  fur  a  skirt,  an'  coax'd  Betts  tu  make  hit,  an'  bout 
the  time  hit  wer  dun,  yere  cum  a  cussed  stuck  up  law- 
yer, name  Jonsin,  an'  ax'd  fur  brekfus' — rite  yere  I 
wishes  the  bread  had  been  asnick,  an'  the  meat  strike- 
nine,  an'  that  he'd  a  staid  an  tuck  dinner  too,  fur  he 
hes  ni  ontu  fotch  about  my  aind,  durn  his  sashararer 
mitimurs  ole  soul  tu  thunder ! 

"  I  wonder  hit  didn't  work  'im  pow'ful  es  hit  wer ;  fur 
Betts  cooks  up  sum  tarifyin  mixtrys  ove  vittils,  when 
she  tries  hersef.  I'se  pizen  proof  my  sef ;  fur  thuty 
dullars,  I  jis'  let  a  sluice  ove  aquafotis  run  thru  me  fur 
ha'f  a  day,  an'  then  live  tu  spen'  the  las'  durn  cent,  fur 
churnbrain  whiskey ;  ef  I  warnt  (holding  up  his  flask 
and  peeping  through  it,)  I'd  dun  been  ded  long  ago. 

"  "Well,  while  he  wer  eatin,  she  spied  out  that  his  shut 
wer  mons'ous  stiff,  an'  es  slick  es  glass,  so  she  never 
rested  ontill  she  wurmed  hit  outen  'im  that  hit  wer 
dun  wif  a  flour  preparashun.  She  went  wif  'im  a  piece 
ove  the  way  down  the  mountin,  tu  git  the  purticulers, 
an'  when  she  cum  back  she  sed  she  had  em.  I  thot 
she  had  myse'f 

"  She  imejuntly  sot  in,  an'  biled  a  big  pot  ove  paste, 
ni  ontu  a  peck  ove  hit,  an'  tole  me  I  wer  gwine  tu  hev 
'the  gonest  purty  shut  in  that  range.'  Well,  she  wer 
sorter  rite,  fur  when  I  las  seed  hit  hit  wer  purty — yas 
orful  purty,  tu  a  rat,  ur  a  buzzard,  ur  eny  uther  varmint 
fon  ove  dirty,  skary  lookin  things ;  but  frum  the  time  I 


32  sut's  new-fangled  shirt. 

staid  inside  ove  hit,  I  can't  say  that  es  a  human  shut 
I'd  gin  a  durn  fur  a  dozin  ove  em.  '  Gonest  purty 
shut ' — the  cussed  ole  hen  jay  bird,  I  jis'  wish  she  hed 
tu  war  it  wif  a  redpepper  linin'  on  till  she  gits  a-pas' 
hatchin,  an'  that  wud  be  ni  ontu  eleving  year,  ef  she 
tells  the  truff. 

"She  soused  my  shut  intu  the  pot,  an'  soaked  hit 
thar,  ontil  hit  tuck  up  mos'  ove  the  paste ;  then  she 
tuck  hit  an'  iron'd  hit  out  flat,  an'  dry,  an'  sot  hit  on 
hits  aidge  agin  the  cabin  in  the  sun.  Thar  hit  stood, 
like  a  dry  hoss  hide,  an'  hit  rattiled  like  ontu  a  sheet 
ove  iron,  hit  did,  pasted  tugether  all  over — 'gonest 
purty  shut !' — durn'd  huzzy ! 

"  When  I  cum  tu  dinner,  numn  wud  du  Betts,  but  I 
mus'  put  myse'f  inside  hit  rite  thar.  She  partid  the  tails 
a  littil  piece  wif  a  case  nife,  an'  arter  I  got  my  hed  star- 
ted up  intu  hit,  she'd  pull  down,  fus'  at  wun  tail,  an' 
then  tuther,  ontil  I  wer  farly  inside  ove  hit,  an'  but- 
ton'd  in.  Durn  the  everlastin,  infunel,  new  fangled 
sheet  iron  cuss  ove  a  shut !  I  say.  I  felt  like  I'd  crowd- 
ed intu  a  ole  bee-gum,  an'  hit  all  full  ove  pissants  •,  but 
hit  wer  a  'born'd  twin  ove  Lawyer  Jonsin's,'  Betts 
sed,  an'  I  felt  like  standin  es  much  pussonal  discumfart 
es  he  cud,  jis  tu  git  tu  sampil  arter  sumbody  human. 
I  didn't  know,  tu,  but  what  hit  hed  the  vartu  ove  makin 
a  lawyer  outen  me  agin  hit  got  limber. 

"  I  sot  in  tu  bildin  ove  a  ash-hopper  fur  Betts,  an1 
work'd  pow'ful  hard,  sweat  like  a  hoss,  an'  then  the 


StJT'S  NEW-FANGLED  SHIKT.  83 

shut  quit  hits  hurtin,  an'  tuck  tu  feelin  slippery. 
Thinks  I,  that's  sorter  lawyer  like  enyhow,  an1 1  wer  hope 
up  bout  the  shut,  an'  what  mout  cum  on  ten  hit 

"  Arter  I  got  dun  work,  I  tuck  me  a  four  finger  dost 
ove  bumble-bee  whisky,  went  up  intu  the  lof  an'  fell 
asleep  a-think'n  bout  bein  a  rale  sashararer  lawyer, 
hoss,  saddil  bags,  an'  books ;  an'  Bets  went  over  the  top 
tu  see  her  mam. 

"  Well,  arter  a  while  I  waked  up  ;  I'd  jis'  been  dream- 
in  that  the  judge  ove  the  supreme  cort  had  me  sowed 
up  in  a  raw  hide,  an'  sot  up  agin  a  hot  pottery  kill  tu 
dry,  an'  the  dryin  woke  me. 

"  I  now  thort  I  wer  ded,  an'  hed  died  ove  rhumaticks 
ove  the  hurtines'  kind.  All  the  jints  I  cud  muve  wer 
my  ankils,  knees,  an'  wrists ;  cudn't  even  move  my  hed, 
an'  scarsely  wink  my  eyes ;  the  cussed  shut  wer  pasted 
fas'  ontu  me  all  over,  frum  the  ainds  ove  the  tails  tu 
the  pints  ove  the  broad-axe  collar  over  my  years.  Hit 
sot  tu  me  es  clost  es  a  poor  cow  dus  tu  her  hide  in  March. 
I  worm'd  an'  strain'd  an'  cuss'd  an'  grunted,  till  I  got  hit 
sorter  broke  at  the  shoulders  an'  elbows,  an'  then  I  dun 
the  durndes'  fool  thing  ever  did  in  these  yere  moun- 
tins.  I  shuffl'd  an'  tore  my  britches  off,  an'  skin'd 
loose  frum  my  hide  bout  two  inches  ove  the  tail  all 
roun  in  orful  pain,  an  quick-stingin  trebulashun.  Oh ! 
great  golly  grampus,  how  it  hurt !  Then  I  tuck  up  a 
plank  outen  the  lof,  an'  hung  my  laigs  down  thru  the 
hole,  sot  in,  an'  nail'd  the  aidge  ove  the  frunt  tail  tu 
2* 


34  sut's  new-fangled  shirt. 

the  floor  afore  me,  an'  the  hine  tail  I  nail'd  tu  the  plank 
what  I  sot  on.  I  flung  the  hammer  outen  my  reach,  tu 
keep  my  hart  frum  failin  me,  onbutton'd  the  collar  an' 
risbans,  raised  my  hans  way  abuv  my  hed,  shot  up 
my  eyes,  sed  a  short  grace,  an'  jump'd  thru  tu  the 
groun'  floor,  jis'  thuteen  foot  wun  inch  clear  ove 
jists." 

Here  Sut  remarked,  sadly  shaking  his  head,  "  George, 
I'se  a  durnder  fool  nor  dad,  hoss,  ho'nets,  an'  gopher. 
I'll  hev  £u  drown'd  mysef  sum  ove  these  days,  see  ef  I 
don't." 

"  Well,  go  on  Sut ;  did  the  shirt  come  off?" 

"  I— t-h-i-n-k— h-i-t d-id. 

"  I  hearn  a  nise  like  tarin  a  shingle  ruff  ofen  a  hous'  at 
wun  rake,  an'  felt  like  my  bones  wer  all  what  lef  the 
shut,  an'  reach'd  the  floor.  I  stagger'd  tu  my  feet,  an' 
tuck  a  moanful  look  up  at  my  shut.  The  nails  hed 
hilt  thar  holt,  an'  so  hed  the  tail  hem  ;  thar  hit  wer  hangm 
arms  down,  inside  out,  an'  jis'  es  stiff  es  ever.  Hi. 
look'd  like  a  map  ove  Mexico,  arter  one  ove  the  wurst 
battils.  A  patch  ove  my  skin  'bout  the  size  ove  a  dul- 
lar,  ur  a  dullar  an'  a  'alf  bill  yere,  a  bunch  ove  har  bout 
like  a  bird's  nes'  thar,  then  sum  more  skin,  then  sum 
paste,  then  a  littil  more  har,  then  a  heap  ove  skin — ■ 
har  an'  skin  straight  along  all  over  that  newfangl'd 
everlastin',  infunel  pasted  cuss  ove  a  durnd  shut !  Hit 
wer  a  picter  tu  look  at,  an'  so  wer  I. 

"  The  hide,  har,  an'  paste  wer  about  ekally  devided 


SUT'S  NEW-FANGLED   SHIRT. 

"  I  hearn  a  nMse  ta-in1  a  shingle  ruff  ofen  a  hous'  at  wun  rake,  an'  felt  like  my  bonei  wer 
ill  what  lef  the  shut,  an'  reached  the  floor."  Page  84. 


sut's  new-fangled  shiet.  35 

atwix  me  an'  hit.  George,  listen  tu  me :  hit  looked  ad- 
zaetly  like  the  skin  ove  sum  wile  beas'  tore  off  alive, 
ur  a  bag  what  hed  toted  a  laig  ove  fresh  beef  frum  a 
shootin  match.  ; 

"  Bill  cum  home  wif  Betts,  an'  wer  the  fust  inter  the 
cabin.  He  backed  outen  hit  agin  an'  sez  he,  '  Marcyful 
payrint !  thar's  been  murderin  dun  yere ;  hits  been  ole 
Bullen ;  he's  skinn'd  Sut,  an'  ihars  his  hide  hung  up  tu 
dry.'  Betts  walked  roun  hit  a  zaminin  hit,  till  at 
las'  she  venter'd  clost,  an'  know'd  her  sowin 

"  Sez  she,  '  Yu  dad  dratted  ole  pot-head,  that's  his 
Sunday  shut  Hes  hed  a  drefrul  rite  tho'  wif  sum- 
body  ;  didn't  they  go  fur  his  har  of  en  ?'  '  An  rine  in  'bun 
dance,'  sed  Bill.  '  Yashoss,'  sed Betts agine,  'an'  ef  I'< 
been  him,  Id  a  shed  hit,  I  wudnt  a  fit  es  nasty  a  rite  ei. 
that  wer,  in  my  fines'  shut,  wu'd  yu,  Bill  ?' 

"  Now,  George,  I's  boun  tu  put  up  Jonsin's  meat  fur  im 
on  site,  wifout  regardin  good  killin  weather,  an'  ef  ever 
a  'oman  flattins  out  a  shut  fur  me  agin,  durn  my  ever- 
lastin  picter  ef  I  dont  flattin  her  out,  es  thin  es  a  step- 
chile's  bread  an'  butter.  I'll  du  hit  ef  hit  takes  me  a 
week. 

"  Hits  a  retribushun  sartin,  the  biggest  kdne  ove  a 
preacher's  regular  retribushun,  what  am  tu  be  foun'  in 
the  Holy  Book. 

"  Dus  yu  mine  my  racin  dad,  wif  sum  ho'nets,  an'  so 
forth,  intu  the  krick  ? 

"  "Well,  this  am  what  cums  ove  hit.    I'll  drownd  mysefj 


36  sut's  new-fangled  shirt. 

see  ef  I  don't,  that  is  ef  I  don't  die  frum  that  hellfired 
shut.  Now  George,  ef  a  red-heded  'oman  wif  a  reel 
foot  axes  yu  tu  marry  her,  yu  may  du  hit ;  ef  an  'oman 
wants  yu  tu  kill  her  husbun,  yu  may  do  hit ;  ef  a  gal 
axes  yu  tu  rob  the  bank,  an'  take  her  tu  Californy,  yu 
may  du  hit ;  ef  wun  on  em  wants  yu  tu  quit  whisky, 
yu  mout  even  du  that.  But  ef  ever  an  'oman,  ole  ur 
yung,  purty  es  a  sunflower  ur  ugly  es  a  skin'd  hoss, 
offers  yu  a  shut  aninted  wif  paste  tu  put  on,  jis'  yu  kill 
her  in  her  tracks,  an'  burn  the  cussed  pisnus  shut  rite 
thar.     Take  a  ho'n? 


THE  WIDOW  MC  CLOUD'S  MIRE. 


"  Thar  cum  tu  this  country,  onst,  a  cussed  sneakin 
lookin  rep-tile,  name  Stilyards.  He  wer  hatched  in  a 
crack — in  the  frosty  rocks,  whar  nutmaigs  am  made 
outen  maple,  an'  whar  wimmin  paints  clock-faces  an' 
pints  shoe-paigs,  an'  the  men  invents  rat-traps,  man- 
traps, an'  new  fangled  doctrins  fur  the  aid  ove  the  devil. 
In  fac'  hit  am  his  gardin,  whar  he  kin  grow  what  won't 
sprout  eny  whar  else. 

"  Well,  this  critter  look't  like  a  cross  atween  a  black 
snake  an'  a  fireman's  ladder.  He  wer  eighteen  an'  a 
'alf  hans  high,  an'  modeled  like  ontu  a  shingle  maker's 
shavin  hoss,  an'  wer  es  yaller  as  a  warter  dorg  wif  the 
janders.  His  eyes  wer  like  ontu  a  coon's,  an'  his  foot 
wer  the  biggest  chunk  ove  meat  an'  knotty  bones  I 
ever  seed  tu  hev  no  guts  intu  hit.  Now  ef  he  hed  wun 
gif  what  wud  make  yu  take  tu  him,  I  never  seed  hit, 
an'  ef  he  ever  did  a  good  ur  a  straight  ahead  thing,  I 
never  hearn  ove  hit.  He  cud  praps  be  skar'd  intu 
actin  rite  fur  a  minit  ur  two  at  a  time,  but  hit  wudn't 
las'.     He  cum  amung  us  a  ole  field  school-marster--- 


38  THE  WIDOW  MC   CLOUD'S  MARE. 

soon  shed  that  shell,  an'  cum  out  es  oily,  slippery  a 
lawyer  as  ever  tuck  a  fee.  Why,  he'd  a  hilt  his  own 
in  a  pond  full  ove  eels,  an'  a  swallerd  the  las  durn  one 
ove  em,  an'  then  sot  the  pond  tu  turnin  a  shoe-paig 
mill.  "Well  he  practised  on  all  the  misfortinat  devils 
roun  that  sarkit,  till  he  got  sassy,  got  niggers,  got  rich, 
got  forty  maulins  fur  his  nastiness,  an'  tu  put  a  cap 
sheaf  ontu  his  stack  ove  raskallity,  got  religion,  an' 
got  tu  Congress. 

"  The  fust  thing  he  did  thar,  wer  to  proffer  tu  tend 
the  Capitol  grouns  in  inyuns,  an'  beans,  on  the  shears, 
an'  tu  sell  the  statoot  ove  Columbus  tu  a  tenpin  alley, 
fur  a  sign,  an'  the  she  injun  wif  him,  tu  send  back  the 
balls.  He  stole  the  Eomun  swoard  ofen  the  stone  picter 
ove  War  thar,  an'  fotch  hit  tu  his  wife  fur  a  meat-chop- 
per. He  practised  lor  ontu  yu  fur  eny  thing  yu  hed, 
frum  a  hanful  ove  chesnuts  tu  a  plantushun,  an'  tu  tell 
hit  all  in  a  minit,  when  he  dies,  he'll  make  the  fastes 
trip  tu  the  senter  ove  soot,  sorrer,  an'  smoke,  on  record, 
aot  even  sceptin  ole  Iskariott's  fas'  time. 

"  Well,  a  misfortinit  devil  happen'd  tu  steal  a  hoss  by 
tccidint,  got  Stilyards  tu  'fend  him,  got  intu  the  peni- 
tensary,  an'  Stilyards  got  all  he  hed — a  half  houn'  dorg, 
an'  a  ole  eight  day  Yankee  clock,  fur  sendin  him  thar. 

"  He  tuck  a  big  young  mar  frum  a  widdar  name  Mc 
Cloud,  fur  losin  a  land  case.  So  he  walked  out  intu 
that  neighborhood  tu  gether  up  an'  tote  home  his  fees, 
an'  I  met  up  wif  him.     He  hed  the  clock  tied  ontu  his 


THE   WIDOW  MC   CLOUD'S   MAEE.  39 

back  pedler  fashun,  leadin  the  mar  in  wun  han'  an'  the 
dorg  by  a  rope  wif  tuther.  The  dorg  wer  interprisin  an 
led  too  fas' — the  mar  wer  sulky  an'  led  tu  slow,  an'  the 
clock  wer  heavy,  an'  the  day  hot,  an'  he  wer  hevin  ove 
a  good  time  gineraly  wif  his  fees,  his  sweat,  an'  his 
mean  thoughts.  So  he  cumenced  tryin  tu  hire  me  tu 
help  him  tu  town,  fur  a  gill  ove  whisky. 

"  Now,  whu  the  devil  ever  hearn  tell  ove  a  gill  ove 
whisky,  in  these  parts  afore  ?  Why  hit  soundid  sorter 
like  a  inch  ove  cord- wood,  ur  a  ounce  ove  cornshuks. 
Hit  'suited  me.  So  I  sot  in  tu  fix  a  way  tu  put  a  gill 
ur  so  ove  pussonal  discumfort  onder  his  shut,  an'  I  did 
hit.  Sez  I,  '  Yu  mout  save  that  whisky  ef  yu  dus'  es  / 
I  tells  yu : 

"  '  Jis'  yu  git  atop,  an'  outside  that  she  hoss  thar,  tie 
that  ar  dorg's  rope  roun  her  neck,  set  the  time-mill  up 
ontu  her  back,  ahine  yu,  an'  tie  hit  roun  yersef ;  that 
makes  her  tote  the  furniture,  tote  yu,  an'  lead  yer 
valerabil  dorg,  while  yu  governs  the  muvemint  wif  a 
good  hickory,  an'  them  bridil  strings,  don't  yu  see  ?' 

"  He  pouched  out  his  mouf,  nodded  his  hed  five  ur  six 
times,  a-bendin  but  wun  jint  'bout  the  midil  ove  that 
long  yaller  neck  ove  hisn,  an'  said,  '  Yas,  a  good  sur- 
gistshun,  mister  Lovingood,'  an'  I  sot  in  tu  help  him 
fix  things.  I  peeled  lots  ove  good  bark,  sot  the  clock 
on  aind,  back  tu  back  wif  him  ontu  the  mar's  bar  cup- 
plin,  an'  I  tied  hit  roun  his  cackus  like  I  ment  them  tu 
stick  es  long  es  hit  run,  ur  he  lived,  an'  hit  cum  durnd 


40  THE   WIDOW  MC   CLOUD'S   MARE. 

ni  doin  hit.  He  sed  lie  thot  the  thing  wild  work,  am, 
so  did  I.  By  golly,  I  seed  the  redish  brown  fire  a  play* 
in  in  the  mar's  eyes,  an'  a  quick  twitchin  in  her  flank, 
what  I  knowd,  an'  onderstood  tu  mean,  that  she'd 
make  orful  things  happen  purty  dnrn'd  soon.  The 
sharp  pint  ove  Stilyard's  tail  bone,  an'  the  clock  laigs 
wer  a  makin  lively  surgistshins  tu  a  devil  intu  her  es 
big  as  a  yearlin. 

"  All  wer  redy  fur  the  show  tu  begin.  '  Yu  git  up, 
yu  pesky  critter,'  sed  he,  a-makin  his  heels  meet,  an' 
crack  onder  her  belly.  Well  she  did  '  git  up,'  rite 
then  an'  thar,  an'  staid  up  long  enuf  tu  lite  twenty  foot 
further  away,  in  a  broad  trimblin  squat,  her  tail  hid 
a-tween  her  thighs,  an'  her  years  a  dancin  a-pas'  each 
uther,  like  scissors  a-cuttin.  The  jolt  ove  the  litin  sot 
the  clock  tu  strikin.  Bang-zee-bang-zee  whang-zee. 
She  listined  pow'ful  'tentive  tu  the  three  fus'  licks,  an' 
they  seem'd  tu  go  thru  an'  thru  her  as  quick  es  quick- 
silver wud  git  thru  a  sifter.  She  waited  fur  no  more, 
but  j  is'  gin  her  hole  soul  up  tu  the  wun  job  ove  run- 
nin  frum  onder  that  infunel  Yankee,  an'  his  hive  ove 
bumble  bees,  ratil  snakes,  an'  other  orful  hurtin  things, 
es  she  tuck  hit  tu  be.  I  knows  how  she  felt ;  I'se  been 
in  the  same  'bout  five  hundred  times,  an'  durn  my 
cackus  ef  she  didn't  kerry  out  my  idears  ove  gittin  outei? 
trubil  fas'  rate. 

"  Every  jump  she  made,  she  jerk't  that  misfortinai 
dorg  six  foot  upard,  an'  thurty  foot  onward,     3umtimep 


THE    WIDOW  MC   CLOUD'S   MAKE.  41 

he  lit  on  his  starn,  sumtimes  on  his  snout,  then  ontu 
bof  ainds  at  wunst.  He  changed  sides  every  nther 
lunge,  clar  over  Stilyards,  an'  his  hour-mill  tu.  He 
sed  O !  Outch  !  every  time  he  lit,  in  houn  talk  loud 
enuff  tu  skeer  the  devil.  An  the  road  wer  sprinkled 
worm  fence  fashun,  like  ontu  a  drunken  man  a-totin  a 
leaky  jug. 

"  The  durn'd  ole  clock,  hit  got  exhited  too,  an'  los' 
control  ove  hits  sef,  an'  furgot  tu  stop,  but  jis  scizzed 
an'  whang'd  away  strait  along,  an'  the  mar  a  hearin  hit 
all,  an'  a  b'levin  the  soun'  tu  be  cumin  nigher  tu  her 
inards  every  pop.  She  thort,  too,  that  four  hundred 
black  an'  tan  houn'  dorgs  wer  cumpassin  her  etarnal 
ruin. 

"  She  seed  em  above  her,  below  her — behine  her — 
afore  her — an'  on  bof  sides  ove  her,  eny  whar,  every 
whar,  nuffin  but  houn'  dorgs.  An  she  jis'  tried  tu  run 
outen  her  sorril  hide.  I  seed  her  two  hine  shoes  shinin 
way  up  in  the  a'r,  like  two  new  moons.  I  know'd  she 
wer  a-mixin  in  sum  high  pressure  vishus  kickin,  wif  a 
heap  ove  as  yearnest,  an'  fas'  runnin  es  hosses  ever 
'dulges  in. 

"  '  Wo  yeow  now !'  I  hearn  this,  sprinkled  in  now 
an'  then  wif  the  yowls  ove  the  dorg,  an'  the  whangin 
ove  the  clock,  an'  all  hit  out-dun  wif  the  mity  nise  ove 
clatterin  huffs,  an'  crashin  brush. 

"  Stilyards  sot  humpt  up,  his  puddin  foots  lock'd  on- 
der  that  skeerd  critter's  bellv,  an'  his  paws  wove  intu 


42  THE  WIDOW  MC  CLOUD'S  MAKE. 

her  mane,  double  twill'd.     I  speck  she  thot  the  deyi] 
wer  a-huggin  her,  an'  she  wer  durnd  near  right. 

"Thinks  I,  ole  feller,  tfyu  gain  this  suit,  yu  may 
ax  Satun,  when  yu  sees  him,  fur  a  par  ove  lisence  tu 
practize  at  his  cort.     He'll  sign  em,  sura 

"  I  cut  acrost  the  ridge,  what  the  road  woun  roun',  an* 
got  whar  I  cud  see  em  a  cummin,  sorter  to'ards  me 
agin.  She  wer  streched  out  strait  as  a  string,  an'  so 
wer  he — he  wer  roostin  pow'ful  low  ontu  her  withers, 
his  long  •arms  locked  roun  her  neck,  his  big  feet  a  fly- 
in  about  in  the  air,  each  side  ove  her  tail,  sorter  lim- 
ber like,  an'  the  dorg  mus'  hev  been  nigh  ontu  killed 
dead,  fur  bof  his  hine  laigs  wer  gone  plumpt  up  tu  his 
cuplin,  an'  a  string  ove  inards  cumin  outen  the  hole  his 
laigs  hed  lef,  wer  a  flutterin  arter  him  like  a  bolt  ove 
grey  ribbon,  slappin  agin  the  saplins,  an'  stumps,  an' 
gettin  longer  every  slap.  His  paunch  wer  a  bobbin  up 
an'  down  about  a  foot  ahine  whar  the  pint  ove  his  tail 
used  tu  be.     Ef  he  yowld  any  now,  I  didn't  hear  hit. 

"That  clock,  the  cussed  mischeaf-makin  mercheen, 
the  cause  ove  all  this  onyeathly  nise,  trubbil,  an'  vex4 
flshun  ove  sperit,  wer  still  ontu  ole  Stilyards's  back,  ari 
a  maulin  away  as  ef  hit  wer  in  the  strait  line  ove  a 
houshole  juty,  an  the  bark  wer  a  holdin  hits  holt  pow- 
ful  well,  considerin  the  strain.  They  met  a  ole  bald- 
heded,  thick-sot  feller  a-cummin  frum  mill,  a-ridin 
ontu  a  grist  ove  meal,  an'  hit  on  a  blaze-face  hoss,  wif 
burs  iii  his  tail.     He  wer  totin  a  kaig  ove  strain'd  hon« 


THE   WIDOW   MC   CLOUD'S   MARE.  43 

ey  in  his  lap,  an'  a  'oman  behine  him,  wif  a  spinnin 
wheel  ontn  her  hip.  The  mar  run  squar  intu  the  mil- 
lin  experdishun     Jis'  es  she  did  hit,  Stilyards  holler'd, 

'  Yeow,  cut  the  bar ' He  never  addid  the  K  tu  that 

word,  fur  sumthin  happen'd,  jis'  then  an'  tharabouts."    ( 

Sut  scratched  his  head,  and  seem'd  to  be  in  deep 
thought. 

"Well,  Sut,  goon." 

"  I  wer  jis'  a-studyin  how  tu  gin  yu  a  sorter  idear  ove 
how  things  look'd  arter  them  two  hoss  beastes  mixed. 
Spose  yu  take  a  comon  size  frame  doggery,  sortar  old 
an'  rotten,  wif  all  the  truck  generly  inside  them  neses- 
ary  instertushuns ;  sit  hit  down  squar  ontu  a  railroad 
track,  jis'  so — an'  du  hit  jis'  in  time  fur  the  kerrs  a-cum- 
min  forty  miles  a  hour,  an'  thar  whistil  string  broke. 
How  du  yu  say  things  wud  look  bout  a  minit  arter< 
ards?" 

"  Yery  much  injured,  I'd  say,  Sut." 

"An'   pow'fuly  mixt?" 

"Yes." 

"  An'  tremenjusly  scattered  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  An'  orfully  changed  in  shape  ?" 

"Yes." 

"An'  in  nater?" 

"Yes." 

"An'  in  valuer?" 

"Yes." 


44  THE  WIDOW  MC   CLOUD'S  MAEE. 

"  An'  a  heap  more  pieces  ?" 

"Yes." 

"An'  smaller  wuns?" 

"Yes." 

"Splinters,  an'  scraps  perdominant ?" 

"Yes." 

"  An'  not  wuf  a  durn,  by  a  duller  an'  a  'alf  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  yu  kin  sorter  take  in  the  tremenjus  idear  ovo 
that  spot  ove  sandy  road,  whar  Stilyards  met  the  bald- 
heded  man.  That  onlucky  ole  cuss  lit  twenty  foot  out 
in  the  woods,  never  look'd  back,  but  sot  his  trampers 
tu  work,  an'  distributed  hissef  sumwhar  toward  the 
Black  Oak  Ridge.  The  'oman  hung  by  wun  foot  in  the 
fork  ove  a  black-jack,  an'  a-holdin  tu  a  dogwood  lim'  wi 
her  hans,  an'  she  hollerin,  surter  spiteful  like — '  Split 
the  black-jack,  ur  fetch  a  quilt !'  Nuffin  ove  the  sort 
wer  dun  whilest  I  wer  thar,  es  I  knows  on.  Stilyards 
wer  ni  tuther  side  ove  the  road,  flat  ontu  his  back, 
fainted  cumfortabil,  an'  quiet  as  a  sick  sow  in  a  snow- 
storm, his  arms  an'  laigs  stretched  till  he  look'd  like  a 
big  letter  X.  His  hat  wer  sumwhar,  an'  a  boot  sum- 
whar else.  His  clothes  wer  in  strings,  like  he'd  been 
shot  thru  a  thorn  thicket,  outen  a  canyun.  His  nose 
wer  a  bleedin  jis'  about  rite  tu  bring  'im  too  sumtime 
to'ards  the  middil  ove  the  artemoon.  His  eyes  wer 
shot  up,  an'  his  face  wer  pucker'd  like  a  wet  sheep-skin 
afore  a  hot  fire,  an'  he  look'd  sorter  like  he'd  been 


THE  WIDOW  MC  CLOUD'S  MARE.  45 

studyin  a  deep  plan  tu  cheat  sumbody,  an'  hed  miss'd. 
The  dorg — that  is  what  wer  lef  ove  'im — wer  a-lyin 
bent  over  the  top  ove  a  saplin  stump,  an'  the  tuthef 
aind  ove  his  inards  wer  tangled  up  amung  the  mar'3 
hine  laigs,  an'  she  wer  sti etched  out  in  runnin  shape,  not, 
hurt  a  bit,  only  her  naik  wer  broke,  an'  a  spinin-whee]j 
spoke  a-stickin  atween  her  ribs  a  foot  ur  so  deep.  Ole 
Ball-face  wer  ontu  his  side,  now  an'  then  liffcin  his  head 
an'  takin  a  look  at  the  surroundin  deserlashun  an' 
sorrer.  The  ole  time  counter  wer  a-leanin  up  agin  a 
tree,  sum  bark  still  roun  hit,  the  door  gone,  the  face 
smashed,  but  still  true  tu  what  hit  thort  hits  juty,  jis 
bangin  away  es  reguler  es  ef  hit  wer  at  home ;  an'  I 
reckon  hits  at  hit  yet.  Thar  wer  honey-kaig  hoops, 
heads,  an'  staves,  an'  spinnin-wheel  spokes,  permiskusly 
scattered  all  about,  an'  meal  sprinkiled  over  everybody, 
an'  everything. 

"  Jis'  then  a  feller  what  look't  like  he  mout  be  a 
tract  sower,  ur  a  map  agent,  rid  up  an'  tuck  a  big  look 
all  roun.  Sez  he,  'Mister,  did  the  litenin  hurt  yuf 
Sez  I,  '  Wus  nur  litenin  ;  a  powder  mill  busted.'  The 
'oman  in  the  black-jack  holler'd  at  him  jis'  then, 
savidge  as  a  cat,  '  Look  tuther  way,  yu  cussed  imperdint 
houn  !'  He  hed  tu  turn  his  hed  tu  see  whar  the  vise 
cum  frum ;  he  jis'  look't  one  squint,  an'  sed,  '  Great 
hevings !'  an'  gin  his  hoss  a  orful  dost  ove  whip  an' 
spurs,  an'  lef  a-fiyin,  an'  he  tolt  at  town  what  he'd 
seed.     The  feller  wer  orful   skeer'd,  an'  no   wonder; 


46  THE  wmow  mc  cloud's  mabe. 

he'd  seed  enuf  tu  skeer  a  saw-mill  plum  ofen  the 
krik. 

"  I  now  tuck  the  meal-bag,  put  in  the  remnant  ove 
the  dorg,  an'  sich  ove  the  honey  es  I  cud  scoop 
up,  an'  draw'd  hit  over  Stilyards's  head,  tied  hit  tite 
roun  his  naik,  in  hopes  hit  mout  help  fetch  him  tu 
sooner;  split  the  black-jack,  an'  lef  in  a  lope.  I  hearn 
the  'oman  squall  arter  me,  '  Never  mind,  laigs,  TU  pay 
yu  /'     She  haint  dun  hit  yet 

"I  tuck  the  road  Stilyards,  an'  the  mar,  an'  his 
tuther  geer,  hed  cum  over  so  fur,  an'  pass'd  a  cabin 
whar  a  ole  'oman  dress'd  in  a  pipe  an'  a  stripid  aprun 
wer  a-standin  on  the  ash-hopper  lookip  up  the  road  like 
she  wer  'spectin  tu  see  sumthin  soon.  Sez  she,  talkin 
'bout  es  fas'  es  a  flutter-mill :  '  Say  yu,  mister,  did  yu 
meet  enything  onkimon  up  thar  ?'  I  shook  my  head. 
'Well,'  sez  she,  jupmin  ofen  the  hopper  an'  a-shakin 
the  ashes  outen  her  coteail,  an'  settin  her  specks  back, 
'Mister,  I'se  plum  outdun  Thar's  sumthin  pow'ful 
wickid  gwine  on  A  crazy  organ-grinder  cum  a-pas' 
yere  jis'  a  small  scrimpshun  slower  nur  chain  litenin, 
on  a  hoss  wif  no  tail.  His  organ  wer  tied  ontu  his 
back,  an'  wer  a-playin  that  good  tchune,  '  Sugar  in  the 
Gourd,'  ur  '  Barbary  Allin,'  I  dunno  which,  an'  his  mon- 
key wer  a-dancin  Hail  Columby  all  over  the  road,  ari 
hits  tail  wer  es  long  es  my  clothes-line,  an'  purfeckly 
bar  ove  har.  He  hed  no  hat  on,  an'  wun  ove  his  boots 
flew  off  as  he  passed  yere,  an'  lit  on  the  smoke-'ous. 


THE  WIDOW  MC  CLOUD'S   MARE.  47 

Thar  hit  is ;  he  mus'  been  a  pow'ful  big  man,  fur  hits 
like  ontu  a  indigo  ceroon.' 

"  All  this  wer  sed  wifont  takin  one  breff. 

"I  tole  her  hit  wer  the  advance  gard  ove  a  big 
Barkis  purclaimin  hits  cummin,  ur  the  merlennium,  an' 
durn'd  ef  I  know'd  which. 

"  She  'lowed  hit  cudent  be  the  merlennium,  fur  hit 
warnt  a  playin  hyrne-tchunes ;  nur  a  sarkis  either,  far 
the  hoss  warn't  spotted.  But  hit  mout  be  the  Devil 
arter  a  tax  collector,  ur  a  missionary  on  his  way  tu 
China ;  hit  look'd  ugly  enuf  tu  be  one,  an'  fool  enuf  tu 
be  tuther.  She  wer  pow'fully  exersised ;  she  sweat  an' 
snorted  onder  hit. 

"  Now  don't  yu  b'leve,  es  soon  es  Stilyards  cum  tu, 
an'  got  outen  the  bag,  he  sot  in  an'  burried  the  mar'  so 
es  tu  hide  her,  an'  then,  at  nex'  cort,  indited  me  fur 
stealin  her,  an'  durn'd  ni  provin  hit ;  now  haint  that  the 
Devil?" 

"  What  ever  become  of  Stilyards,  Sut,  anyhow  ?" 

"  I  dono  ;  ef  he  haint  in  Congriss  he's  gone  tu  h — Ln 


PARSON  JOHN  BULLEFS  LIZARDS. 


AIT  ($8^   DULLAKS  EEW-AKD. 

^TENSHUN    BELEVERC    AND    KONSTABLES !     KETCH    'iMl 
KETCH    'IM  ! 

This  kasli  wil  be  pade  in  korn,  ur  uther  projuce,  ta 
be  kolected  at  ur  about  nex  camp-meetin,  ur  thararter, 
by  eny  wun  what  ketches  him,  fur  the  karkus  ove  a 
sartin  wun  Sut  Lovingood,  dead  ur  alive,  ur  ailin, 
an'  safely  giv  over  tu  the  purtectin  care  ove  Parson 
John  Bullin,  ur  lef '  well  tied,  at  Squire  Mackjunkins. 
fur  the  raisin  ove  the  devil  pussonely,  an'  permiskusly 
discumfurtin  the  wimen  very  powerful,  an'  skeerin  ove 
folks  generly  a  heap,  an'  bustin  up  a  promisin,  big 
warm  meetin,  an'  a  makin  the  wickid  larf,  an'  wus,  an' 
wus,  insultin  ove  the  passun  orful. 

Test,        Jehu  Wethero. 

Sined  by  me, 

John  Bullen,  the  passun. 

I  found  written  copies  of  the  above  highly  intelligi- 
ble  and  vindictive   proclamation,  stuck   up  on  every 


PARSON  JOHN   BULLEN'S    LIZARDS.  49 

blacksmith  shop,  doggery,  and  store  door,  in  the  Frog 
Mountain  Range.  Its  blood-thirsty  spirit,  its  style,  and 
above  all,  its  chirography,  interested  me  to  the  extent 
of  taking  one  down  from  a  tree  for  preservation. 

In  a  few  days  I  found  Sut  in  a  good  crowd  in  front 
of  Capehart's  Doggery,  and  as  he  seemed  to  be  about  in 
good  tune,  I  read  it  to  him. 

"  Yas,  George,  that  ar  dockymint  am  in  dead  yearn- 
ist  sartin.  Them  hard  shells  over  thar  dus  want  me 
the  wus  kine,  powerful  bad.  But,  I  spect  ait  dullers 
won't  fetch  me,  nither  wud  ait  hundred,  bekase  thar's 
nun  ove  'em  fas'  enuf  tu  ketch  me,  nither  is  thar  hosses 
by  the  livin  jingo  !  Say,  George,  much  talk  'bout  this 
fuss  up  whar  yu're  been?"  For  the  sake  of  a  joke  I 
said  yes,  a  great  deal. 

"  Jis'  es  I  'spected,  durn'em,  all  git  drunk,  an'  skeer 
thar  fool  sefs  ni  ontu  deth,  an'  then  lay  hit  ontu  me,  a 
poor  innersent  youf,  an'  es  soun'  a  belever  es  they  is. 
Lite,  lite,  ole  feller  an'  let  that  roan  ove  yourn  blow  a 
litil,  an'  I'll  'splain  this  cussed  misfortnit  affar :  hit  hes 
ruinated  my  karacter  es  a  pius  pusson  in  the  s'ciety 
roun'  yere,  an'  is  a  spreadin  faster  nur  meazils.  When 
ever  yu  hear  eny  on  'em  a  spreadin  hit,  gin  hit  the  dam 
lie  squar,  will  yu  ?  I  haint  dun  nuffin  tu  one  ove  'em, 
Hits  true,  I  did  sorter  frustrate  a  few  lizzards  a  littil, 
but  they  haint  members,  es  I  knows  on. 

"You  see,  las'  year  I  went  tu  the  big  meetin  at 
Rattlesnake  Springs,  an'  wer  a  sittin  in  a  nice  shady 


50  PARSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZARDS. 

place  convarsin  wif  a  frien'  ove  mine,  intu  the  huckii 
berry  thickit,  jis'  duin  nuffin  tu  nobody  an'  makin  no 
fuss,  when,  the  fust  thing  I  remembers,  I  woke  up 
frum  a  trance  what  I  hed  been  knocked  inter  by  a  four* 
year  old  hickory-stick,  hilt  in  the  paw  ove  ole  Passun 
Bullin,  durn  his  alligater  hide;  an'  he  wer  standin  a 
striddil  ove  me,  a  foamin  at  the  mouf,  a-chompin  his 
teeth — gesterin  wif  the  hickory  club — an'  a-preachin 
tu  me  so  you  cud  a-hearn  him  a  mile,  aV*>it  a  sartin 
sins  gineraly,  an'  my  wickedness  pussonely  *  -an'  men- 
sunin  the  name  ove  my  frien'  loud  enuf  tu  J  .  hearn 
tu  the  meetin  'ous.  My  poor  innersent  frien'  wer  dun 
gone  an'  I  wer  glad  ove  hit,  fur  I  tho't  he  ment  tu  kill 
me  rite  whar  I  lay,  an'  I  didn't  want  her  tu  see  me  die. " 

"Who  was  she,  the  friend  you  speak  of  Sut?"  Sut 
opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  Hu  the  devil,  an'  durnashun  tole  yu  that  hit  wer  a 
she?" 

"Why,  you  did,  Sut" ■ 

"  I  didn't,  durn  ef  I  did.  Ole  Bullin  dun  hit,  an'  I'll 
hev  tu  kill  him  yet,  the  cussed,  infernel  ole  tale- 
barer  !" 

"  Well,  well,  Sut,  who  was  she  ?" 

"  Nun  ove  y-u-r-e  b-i-s-n-i-s-s,  durn  yure  littil  ankshus 
picter !  I  sees  yu  a  lickin  ove  yure  lips.  I  vtill  tell  you 
one  thing,  George ;  that  night,  a  neighbor  gal  got  a  all 
fired,  overhandid  stroppin  frum  her  mam,  wif  a  stirrup 
leather,  an'  ole  Passun  Bullin,  hed  et  supper  thar,  a> 


PARSON  JOHN   BULLEN'S    LIZARDS.  51 

wliat's  wus  nur  all,  that  poor  innersent,  skeer'd  gal  hed 
dun  her  levil  bes'  a  cookin  hit  for  'im.  She  begged 
him,  a  trimblin,  an'  a-cryin  not  tu  tell  on  her.  He  et 
her  cookin,  he  promised  her  he'd  keep  dark — an'  then 
went  strait  an'  tole  her  mam.  Warnt  that  rale  low 
down,  wolf  mean?  The  durnd  infunel,  hiperkritikal, 
pot-bellied,  scaley-hided,  whisky-wastin,  stinkin  ole 
groun'-hog.  He'd  a  heap  better  a  stole  sum  man's  hoss ; 
I'd  a  tho't  more  ove  'im.  But  I  paid  him  plum  up  far 
hit,  an'  I  means  tu  keep  a  payin  him,  ontil  one  ur 
tuther,  ove  our  toes  pints  up  tu  the  roots  ove  the  grass. 

"  Well,  yere's  the  way  I  lifted  that  note  ove  han'.  At 
the  nex  big  meetin  at  Rattilsnaik — las'  week  hit  wer — I 
wer  on  han'  es  solemn  es  a  ole  hat  kiwer  on  collection 
day.  I  hed  my  face  draw'd  out  intu  the  shape  an' 
perporshun  ove  a  taylwer's  sleeve-board,  pint  down.  I 
hed  put  on  the  convicted  sinner  so  pufeckly  that  an' 
ole  obsarvin  she  pillar  ove  the  church  sed  tu  a  ole  he 
pillar,  es  I  walked  up  tu  my  bainch : 

"  '  Law  sakes  alive,  ef  thar  ain't  that  orful  sinner,  Sut 
Lovingood,  pearced  plum  thru ;  hu's  nex  ?' 

"  Yu  see,  by  golly,  George,  I  hed  tu  promis  the  ole 
tub  ove  soap-greas  tu  cum  an'  hev  myself'  convarted, 
jis'  tu  keep  him  frum  killin  me.  An'  es  I  know'd  hit 
wudn't  interfare  wif  the  relashun  I  bore  tu  the  still 
housis  roun'  thar,  I  didn't  keer  a  durn  I  jis'  wanted 
tu  git  ni  ole  Bullin,  onst  onsuspected,  an'  this  wer  the 
bes'  way  tu  du  hit     I  tuk  a  seat  on  the  side  steps  ove 


52  PARSON  JOHN   BOLLEN'S    LIZARDS. 

the  pulpit,  an'  kivvered  es  much  ove  my  straitch'd  face 
es  I  could  wif  my  han's,  tu  prove  I  wer  in  yearnis. 
Hit  tuck  powerful — fur  I  hearn  a  sorter  thankful  kine 
ove  buzzin  all  over  the  congregashun.  Ole  Bullin  his- 
sef  looked  down  at  me,  over  his  ole  copper  specks,  an' 
hit  sed  jis'  es  plain  es  a  look  cud  say  hit:  'Yu  am 
thar,  ar  you — durn  yu,  hits  well  fur  yu  that  yu  cum.'  I 
tho't  sorter  diffrent  frum  that.  I  tho't  hit  wud  a  been 
well  fur  yu,  ef  I  hadent  a-cum,  but  I  didn't  say  hit  jis 
then.  Thar  wer  a  monstrus  crowd  in  that  grove,  fur  the 
weather  wer  fine,  an'  b'levers  wer  plenty  roun'  about 
Rattilsnaik  Springs.  Ole  Bullin  gin  out,  an'  they  sung 
that  hyme,  yu  know : 

"Thar  will  be  mournin,  mournin  yere,  an'  mournin  thar, 
On  that  dredral  day  tu  cum." 

"  Thinks  I,  ole  hoss,  kin  hit  be  possibil  enybody  hes 
tole  yu  what's  a  gwine  tu  happin  ;  an'  then  I  tho't  that 
nobody  know'd  hit  but  me,  and  I  wer  cumforted.  He 
nex  tuck  hisself  a  tex  pow'fly  mixed  wif  brimstone,  an' 
trim'd  wif  blue  flames,  an'  then  he  open'd.  He  cum- 
menced  ontu  the  sinners ;  he  threaten'd  'em  orful,  tried 
tu  skeer  'em  wif  all  the  wust  varmints  he  cud  think 
ove,  an'  arter  a  while  he  got  ontu  the  idear  ove  Hell- 
sarpints,  and  he  dwelt  on  it  sum.  He  tole  'em  how  the 
ole  Hell-sarpints  wud  sarve  em  if  they  didn't  repent ; 
how  cold  they'd  crawl  over  thar  nakid  bodys,  an'  how 
like  ontu  pitch  they'd  stick  tu  'em  es  they  crawled ;  how 


PABSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZARDS.  53 

they'd  rap  thar  tails  roun'  thar  naiks  chokin  clost,  poke 
thar  tungs  up  thar  noses,  an'  hiss  intu  thar  years.  This 
wer  the  way  they  wer  tu  sarve  men  folks.  Then  he 
turned  ontu  the  wimmen :  tole  'em  how  they'd  quile  in- 
tu thar  buzzims,  an'  how  they  wud  crawl  down  onder 
thar  frock-strings,  no  odds  how  tite  they  tied  'em,  an'  how 
sum  ove  the  oldes'  an'  wus  ones  wud  crawl  up  thar 
laigs,  an'  travil  onder  thar  garters,  no  odds  how  tight 
they  tied   them,  an'   when  the  two   armys   ove   Hell- 

sarpents  met,  then That  las'  remark  fotch  'em.     Ove 

all  the  screamin,  an'  hollerin,  an'  loud  cryin,  I  ever 
hearn,  begun  all  at  onst,  all  over  the  hole  groun'  jis' 
es  he  hollered  out  that  word  'then.'  He  kep  on  a  bel- 
lerin,  but  I  got  so  buisy  jis'  then,  that  I  didn't  listen  tu 
him  much,  fur  I  saw  that  my  time  fur  ackshun  hed 
cum.  Now  yu  see,  George,  I'd  cotch  seven  ur  eight  big 
pot-bellied  lizzards,  an'  hed  'em  in  a  littil  narrer  bag, 
what  I  had  made  a-purpus.  Thar  tails  all  at  the  bot' 
tim,  an'  so  crowdid  fur  room  that  they  cudent  turn 
roun'.  So  when  he  wer  a-ravin  ontu  his  tip-toes,  an' 
a-poundin  the  pulpit  wif  his  fis' — onbenowenst  tu  eny- 
body,  I  ontied  my  bag  ove  reptiles,  put  the  mouf  ove 
hit  onder  the  bottim  ove  his  britches-laig,  an'  sot  intu 
pinchin  thar  tails.  Quick  es  gunpowder  they  all  tuck 
up  his  bar  laig,  makin  a  nise  like  squirrils  a-climbin  a 
shell-bark  hickory.  He  stop't  preachin  rite  in  the 
middil  ove  the  word  '  damnation,'  an'  looked  fur  a  mo- 
meat  like  he  wer  a  listenin  fur  sumthin— sorter  like  9 


54  PAESON  JOHN    BTJLLEN'S  LIZABDS. 

ole  sow  dus,  when  she  hears  yu  a-whistlin  far  the  dorgs. 
The  tarifick  shape  ove  his  feeters  stopp't  the  shoutin 
an'  sereamin ;  instuntly  yu  cud  hearn  a  cricket  chirp, 
I  gin  a  long  groan,  an'  hilt  my  head  a-twixt  my  knees. 
He  gin  hisself  sum  orful  open-handed  slaps  wif  fust  one 
han'  an'  then  tuther,  about  the  place  whar  yu  cut  the 
bes'  steak  outen  a  beef.  Then  he'd  fetch  a  vigrus  ruflf 
rub  whar  a  hosses  tail  sprouts ;  then  he'd  stomp  one 
foot,  then  tuther,  then  bof  at  onst.  Then  he  run  his 
han'  atween  his  waisbun  an'  his  shut  an'  reach'd  way 
down,  an'  roun'  wif  hit ;  then  he  spread  his  big  laigs, 
an'  gin  his  back  a  good  rattlin  rub  agin  the  pulpit,  like 
a  hog  scratches  hisself  agin  a  stump,  leanin  tu  hit 
pow'ful,  an'  twitchin,  an'  squirmin  all  over,  es  ef  he'd 
slept  in  a  dorg  bed,  ur  ontu  a  pisant  hill.  About  this 
time,  one  ove  my  lizzards  scared  an'  hurt  by  all  this 
poundin'  an'  feelin,  an'  scratchin,  popp'd  out  his  head 
frum  the  passun's  shut  collar,  an'  his  ole  brown  naik, 
an'  wer  a-surveyin  the  crowd,  when  ole  Bullin  struck 
at  'im,  jis'  too  late,  fur  he'd  dodged  back  agin.  The 
hell  desarvin  ole  raskil's  speech  now  cum  tu  'im,  a'n 
sez  he,  '  Pray  fur  me  brethren  an'  sisteren,  fur  I  is  a- 
rastilin  wif  the  great  inimy  rite  now  !  an'  his  voice  wer 
the  mos'  pitiful,  trimblin  thing  I  ever  hearn.  Sum  ove 
the  wimmen  fotch  a  painter  yell,  an'  a  young  docter, 
wif  ramrod  laigs,  lean'd  toward  me  monstrus  knowin 
like,  an'  sez  he,  '  Glar  case  ove  Delishus  Tremenjus.'  I 
nodded  my  head,  an'  sez  J,  '  Yas,  spechuly  the  tremen* 


PAESON    JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZAEDS.  55 

jus  part,  an'  Ise  feard  hit  haint  at  hits  worst.  Ole 
Bullin's  eyes  wer  a-stickin  out  like  ontu  two  buckeyes 
flung  agin  a  mud  wall,  an'  he  wer  a-cuttin  up  more 
shines  nor  a  cockroach  in  a  hot  skillet.  Off  went  the 
clamhammer  coat,  an'  he  flung  hit  ahine  'im  like  he  wer 
a-gwine  intu  a  fight ;  he  hed  no  jackid  tu  take  off,  so 
he  unbuttond  his  galluses,  an'  vigrusly  flung  the  ainds 
back  over  his  head.  He  fotch  his  shut  over-handed  a 
durnd  site  faster  nor  I  got  outen  my  pasted  one,  an'  then 
flung  hit  strait  up  in  the  air,  like  he  jis'  wanted  hit  tu 
keep  on  up  forever ;  but  hit  lodged  ontu  a  black-jack, 
an'  I  sed  one  ove  my  lizzards  wif  his  tail  up,  a-racin 
about  all  over  the  ole  dirty  shut,  skared  too  bad  tu. 
jump.  Then  he  gin  a  sorter  shake,  an'  a  stompin  kine 
ove  twis',  an'  he  cum  outer  his  britches.  He  tuck  'em 
by  the  bottim  ove  the  laigs,  an'  swung  'em  roun'  his 
head  a  time  ur  two,  an'  then  fotch  'em  down  cherall-up 
over  the  frunt  ove  the  pulpit.  You  cud  a  hearn  the 
smash  a  quarter  ove  a  mile !  Ni  ontu  fifteen  shorten'd 
biskits,  a  boiled  chicken,  wif  hits  laigs  crossed,  a  big 
dubbil-bladed  knife,  a  hunk  ove  terbacker,  a  cob-pipe, 
sum  copper  ore,  lots  ove  broken  glass,  a  cork,  a  sprinkil 
ove  whisky,  a  squirt,  an'  three  lizzards  flew  permis- 
kusly  all  over  that  meetin-groun',  outen  the  upper  aind 
ove  them  big  flax  britches.  One  ove  the  smartes'  ove 
my  lizzards  lit  head-fust  intu  the  buzzim  ove  a  fat 
'oman,  es  big  es  a  skin'd  hoss,  an'  ni  ontu  es  ugly,  who 
sot  thuty  yards  off,  a  fannin  hersef  wif  a  tucky-tail. 


56  PARSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZAEDS. 

Smart  tu  tlie  las',  by  golly,  lie  imejuntly  commenced 
runnin  down  the  centre  ove  her  breas'-bone,  an'  kep  on, 
I  speck.  She  wer  jis'  bonn'  tu  faint ;  an'  she  did  hit 
fust  rate — flung  the  tucky-tail  up  in  the  air,  grabbed 
the  lap  ove  her  gown,  gin  hit  a  big  histin  an'  fallin 
shake,  rolled  down  the  hill,  tangled  her  laigs  an'  garters 
in  the  top  ove  a  huckilberry  bush,  wif  her  head  in  the 
branch  an'  jis'  lay  still.  She  wer  interestin,  she  wer, 
ontil  a  serious-lookin,  pale-faced  'oman  hung  a  nankeen 
ridin  skirt  over  the  huckilberry  bush.  That  wer  all  that 
wer  dun  to'ards  bringin  her  too,  that  I  seed.  Now 
ole  Bullin  hed  nuffin  left  ontu  'im  but  a  par  ove  heavy, 
low  quarter'd  shoes,  short  woolen  socks,  an'  eel-skin 
garters  tu  keep  off  the  cramp.  His  skeer  hed  druv  him 
plum  crazy,  fur  he  felt  roun'  in  the  air,  abuv  his  head, 
like  he  wer  huntin  sumthin  in  the  dark,  an'  he  beller'd 
out,  'Brethren,  brethren,  take  keer  ove  yerselves,  the 
Hell-sarpints  lies  got  me  /'  When  this  cum  out,  yu  cud 
a-hearn  the  screams  tu  Halifax.  He  jis'  spit  in  his 
han's,  an'  loped  over  the  frunt  ove  the  pulpid  kerdiff! 
He  lit  on  top  ove,  an'  rite  amung  the  mos'  pius  part  ove 
the  congregashun.  Ole  Misses  Chaneyberry  sot  wif  her 
back  tu  the  pulpit,  sorter  stoopin  forrid.  He  lit  a* 
stradil  ove  her  long  naik,  a  shuttin  her  up  wif  a  snap, 
her  head  atwix  her  knees,  like  shuttin  up  a  jack-knife, 
an'  he  sot  intu  gittin  away  his  levil  durndest ;  he  went 
in  a  heavy  lumberin  gallop,  like  a  ole  fat  waggon  hoss, 
dcgrecl  frt  ft  locomotive,     When,  he  jumpt  a,  bainch  h<? 


PARSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZARDS.  57 

shook  the  yeath.  The  bonnets,  an'  fans  clar'd  the  waj 
an'  jerked  most  ove  the  children  wif  em,  an'  the  rest  he 
scrunched.  He  open'd  a  purfeckly  clar  track  tu  the 
woods,  ove  every  livin  thing.  He  weighed  ni  ontu 
three  hundred,  hed  a  black  stripe  down  his  back,  like 
ontu  a  ole  bridil  rein,  an'  his  belly  wer  'bout  the  size^ 
an'  color  ove  a  beef  paunch,  an'  hit  a-swingin  out  frum 
side  tu  side ;  he  leand  back  frum  hit,  like  a  littil  fel- 
ler a-totin  a  big  drum,  at  a  muster,  an'  I  hearn  hit 
plum  tu  whar  I  wer.  Thar  wer  cramp-knots  on  his 
laigs  es  big  es  walnuts,  an'  mottled  splotches  on  his 
shins ;  an'  takin  him  all  over,  he  minded  ove  a  durnd 
crazy  ole  elephant,  pussessed  ove  the  devil,  rared  up  on 
hits  hind  aind,  an'  jis'  gittin  frum  sum  imijut  danger  ur 
tribulashun.  He  did  the  loudest,  an'  skariest,  an'  fus- 
siest runnin  I  ever  seed,  tu  be  no  faster  nur  hit  wer, 
since  dad  tried  tu  outrun  the  ho'nets. 

"Well,  he  disapear'd  in  the  thicket  jis'  bustin — an' 
ove  all  the  noises  yu  ever  hearn,  wer  made  thar  on  that 
camp  groun' :  sum  wimen  screamin — they  wer  the 
skeery  ones ;  sum  larfm — they  wer  the  wicked  ones ; 
sum  cryin — they  wer  the  fool  ones,  (sorter  my  stripe  yu 
know ;)  sum  tryin  tu  git  away  wif  thar  faces  red — they 
wer  the  modest  ones ;  sum  lookin  arter  ole  Bullin — they 
wer  the  curious  ones  ;  sum  hangin  clost  tu  thar  sweet- 
hearts— they  wer  the  sweet  ones ;  sum  on  thar  knees 
wif  thar  eyes  shot,  but  facin  the  way  the  ole  mud  turtil 
wer  a-runnin — they  wer  the  'saitM  ones;  sum  duin 


58  PARSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZARDS. 

nuthin — they  wer  tlie  waitin  ones;  an'  the  mos'  dan 
gems  ove  all  ove  em  by  a  durnd  long  site. 

'  'I  tuck  a  big  skeer  mysef  arter  a  few  rocks,  an'  sich 
like  fruit,  spattered  ontu  the  pulpit  ni  ontu  my  head ; 
an'  es  the  Lovingoods,  durn  em  !  knows  nuffin  but  tu 
run,  when  they  gits  skeerd,  I  jis'  put  out  fur  the  swamp 
on  the  krick.  As  I  started,  a  black  bottil  ove  bald-face 
smashed  agin  a  tree  furninst  me,  arter  missin  the  top 
ove  my  head  'bout  a  inch.  Sum  durn'd  fool  professor 
dun  this,  who  hed  more  zeal  or  sence ;  fur  I  say  that 
eny  man  who  wud  waste  a  quart  ove  even  mean 
sperrits,  fur  the  chance  ove  knockin  a  poor  ornary 
devil  like  me  down  wif  the  bottil,  is  a  bigger  fool  nor 
ole  Squire  Mackmullen,  an'  he  tried  tu  shoot  hissef  wif 
a  onloaded  hoe-handle." 

"Did  they  catch  you  Sut?" 

"Ketch  thunder!  No  sir!  jis'  look  at  these  yere 
laigs !  Skeer  me,  hoss,  jis'  skeer  me,  an'  then  watch 
me  while  I  stay  in  site,  an'  yu'll  never  ax  that  fool 
question  agin.  Why,  durn  it,  man,  that's  what  the  ait 
dullers  am  fur. 

"  Ole  Barbelly  Bullin,  es  they  calls  'im  now,  never 
preached  ontil  yesterday,  an'  he  hadn't  the  fust  durn'd 
'oman  tu  hear  'im,  they  hev  seed  too  much  ove  Hm.  Pas-  \/ 
suns  ginerly  hev  a  pow'ful  strong  holt  on  wimen  ;  but, 
hoss,  I  tell  yu  thar  ain't  meny  ove  em  kin  run  start 
nakid  over  an'  thru  a  crowd  ove  three  hundred  wimen 
an'  not  injure  thar  karacters  sum,    Enyhow,  hits  a 


PAKSON  JOHN  BULLEN'S    LIZAEDS.  59 

kind  ove  show  they'd  rather  see  one  at  a  time,  an'  pick 
the  passun  at  that.  His  tex'  wer,  '  Nakid  I  cum  intu 
the  world,  an'  nakid  I'm  a  gwine  outen  hit,  ef  I'm 
spard  ontil  then. '  He  sed  nakidness  warnt  much  ove  a 
sin,  purtickerly  ove  dark  nights.  That  he  wer  a  weak, 
frail  worn  ove  the  dus',  an'  a  heap  more  sich  truck. 
Then  he  totch  ontu  me ;  sed  I  wer  a  livin  proof  ove  the 
hell-desarvin  nater  ove  man,  an'  that  thar  warnt  grace 
enuf  in  the  whole  'sociation  tu  saften  my  outside  rind ; 
that  I  wer  '  a  lost  ball '  forty  years  afore  I  wer  born'd, 
an'  the  bes'  thing  they  cud  du  far  the  church,  wer  tu 
turn  out,  an'  still  hunt  fur  me  ontil  I  wer  shot.  An'  he 
never  said  Hell-sarpints  onst  in  the  hole  preach.  I 
b'leve,  George,  the  durnd  fools  am  at  hit. 

"  Now,  I  wants  yu  tu  tell  ole  Barbelly  this  fur  me,  ef 
he'll  let  me  an'  Sail  alone,  I'll  let  him  alone — a-while  ; 
an'  ef  he  don't,  ef  I  don't  lizzard  him  agin,  I  jis'  wish  I 
may  be  dod  durnd !     Sheer  him  if  yu  hen. 

"  Let's  go  tu  the  spring  an'  take  a  ho'n. 

"  Say  George,  didn't  that  ar  Hell-sarpint  sermon  ove 
his'n,  hev  sumthin  like  a  Hell-sarpint  aplicashun  ?  Hit 
looks  sorter  so  tu  ma" 


A  RAZOR-GRINDER  IN  A  THUNDER-STORM, 


"  Frum  the  orful  faces  yu's  a-makin  at  tliat  ar  scrap 
ove  lookin-glass,  yu  wants  tu  skeer  yure  picter,  ur  yu's 
et  sumthin  what  hes  cuttin  aidges ;  which  is  hit, 
George  ?" 

"  Neither  "  said  I. 

"  Well,  p'raps  sumbody  hes  been  a-cuttin  shoe-strings 
outen  a  sandy  deer-skin  wif  yur  rayshure;  yu  wants 
hit  ground,  don't  yu  ?  Bake  Boyd's  man  end  a  dun 
hit." 

"  Who  was  Bake  Boyd's  man  ?  was  he  a  negro  ?" 

"  Wus  nor  that ;  he  wer  a  mighty  mean  Yankee  ray- 
shure grinder,  what  wunst  cum  tu  Knoxville  a  foot- 
back,  wif  a  mercheen  strapt  ontu  his  shoulders  like  on- 
tu  a  patent  corn-sheller,  an'  he  narated  hit  about,  that 
he  would  grind  raysures,  scissors,  ur  pint  needils,  mon 
s'ous  cheap.  He  soon  got  tu  grindin  away  fas'  rate, 
He  wer  a  pow'ful  slow-speakin,  dignerfied  sorter  vais 
mint,  an'  thort  that  hissef  an'  mercheen  cummanded 
the  respeck  an'  submishun  ove  the  poperlashun,  whar- 
ever  he  went.    That  idear  wus  chased  outen  his  skull 


A  RAZOR-GRINDER    IN  A  THUNDER-STORM.  61 

thru  his  years,  mons'ous  quick,  at  Knoxville.  He 
cudn't  hev  cum  tu  a  better  place  than  hit  wer  in  them 
days,  fur  sweepin  out  the  inside  ove  stuffc  up  fellers' 
skulls  clean  ove  all  ole  rusty,  cob-web,  bigited  idears, 
an'  then  a  fillin  hit  up  fresh  wif  sumthin  new  an'  activ  ; 
an'  in  the  'sort-mint  wer  allers  wun  king  idear  sure,  an' 
hit  wer  in  words  sorter  so  :  '  If  I  gits  away  alive,  durn 
ef  ever  I  cum  yere  agin.'  I  speck  ni  ontu  a  thousin 
fellers,  off  an'  on,  cum  tu  that  ole  town  sufferin  pow'ful 
wif  a  onintemitant  attack  ove  swell-head,  an'  every 
durn'd  wun  ove  em  lef  thar  wif  the  words  I  spoke  jis 
now,  a-drapin  ofen  thar  limber  onder  lips,  sorter  like  a 
ole  heart-broken  hoss  slobbers. 

"  Bake  Boyd  (Bake  wer  the  short  far  Bacon,  an' 
Bacon  wer  his  nickname  yu  know)  wer  ni  ontu  es  clev- 
er a  feller  es  ever  wer  born'd.  Thar  wer  durn'd  littil 
weevil  in  his  wheat,  mity  small  chance  ove  warter  in 
his  whisky,  an'  not  a  drap  ove  streakid  blood  in  his 
veins.  But  he  hed  a  besettin  sin  :  he  wer  pow'fully  pur- 
sessed  wif  the  devil ;  he  wer  so  chock  full  ove  hit  that 
his  har  wudn't  lie  still.  He  watched  for  openins  tu 
work  off  sum  kind  ove  devilment,  jist  es  clost  es  a  ole 
'oman  what  wer  wunst  onsanctified  hersef,  watches  her 
darters  when  a  suckus  ur  a  camp  meetin  am  in  heat. 
'  "  Well,  Bake  thort  he  seed  a  openin  in  that  ar  ray- 
sure-grindin  establishmint,  so  he  sot  in  tu  make  the 
durnd  fool  bleve  that  lecterin  ontu  the  skyance  ove 
raysure-sharpenin  wer  his  speshul  gif,  an'  that  rite  thar 


J 


62  A  RAZOR-GRINDER  IN  A  THUNDER-STORM. 

wer  the  place  tu  try  that  sock  on.  Bake  dwelt  long 
ontu  the  crop  ove  dimes  tu  be  gethered  frum  that  field ; 
that  he'd  make  more  than  thar  wer  spots  ontu  forty 
fawns  in  July,  not  tu  speak  ove  the  big  gobs  ove  rep- 
ertashun  he'd  tote  away,  a  shinin  all  over  his  close,  like 
litnin  bugs  ontu  a  dorg  fennil  top.  The  argymint  fotch 
him,  purticularly  the  spotted  fawn  part  ove  hit.  But 
he  wer  a  Yankee,  an'  wanted  tu  know,  afore  he  begun, 
how  many  spots  thar  wur  ontu  wun  fawn :  so  he  went 
tu  the  stabil,  an'  axed  ole  Dick,  Bake's  hossler. 

"The  ole   niggar  scratched  his  hed,   an'   tole  him, 
Marster,  I'se  never  counted  em,  but  I  specks  thar  am 
&  gallun,  suah  an'  sartin. ' 

"He  got  Bake  tu  git  sum  'vartisments  printed,  an' 
stuck  up  all  over  town.  Bake  show'd  that  he  onder- 
stood  the  'vartisment  bisness,  fur  he  put  the  picter  ove 
a  rarin  stud  hoss  at  the  top,  a  runaway  buck  niggar  wif 
a  bundil  each  side,  while  two  barrils  marked  whisky,  a 
wool-cardin  mersheen,  an'  a  cider  mill  top't  off  the  bot- 
tum. 

"  While  Bake  wer  a-doin  ove  this,  ole  Grinder  wet 

a-ritin  out  the  lecter.     Hit  wer  a  complikated  sort  ove 

dockymint — talked  sorter  like  a  feller  wud  tu  a  Kon* 

stable,  tu  take  his  mind  ofen  the  warrant  he  know'd  he 

hed  fur  him,  ontill  he  seed  a  chance  tu  run.     Hit  spoke 

in  purtickeler  ove  the  commit,  Niagray  Falls,  the  mer- 

lennium,  hatchin  chickins,  fallin  frum  grace,  an'  makin 

mush  outen  sawdust,  an'  generally  ove  everything  on 

i 


A  RAZOR-GRINDER  IN  A  THUNDER-STORM.  68 

the  A'mitey's  green  yeath,  sceptin  raysure-grindin,  ari 
the  depravity  ove  man,  when  he  am  a  boy.  He  ortent 
tu  hev  lef  that  pint  out,  fur  hit  wer  boys  what  he  wer 
dealin  wif  jis'  then,  an'  a  rite  tight  preacher  mont  hev 
call'd  them  deprav'd  or  onsanctified  at  leas'. 

"  Well,  that  nite  the  Court  Hous  wer  plum  full ; 
everybody  wer  thar,  sceptin  Lum  Jones,  an'  he  wer 
hid  out  frum  the  Free  Masons.  Bake  sot  ahine  the 
lecterin-mersheen,  tu  read  frum  the  paper  tu  him  when 
he  furgot  what  wer  in  hit.  Thar  wer  fotch  intu  the 
yard,  clost  tu  the  winder  whar  they  wer  a-standin,  a  ole 
brass  canyun  full  tu  the  muzzle,  wif  powder  an'  red 
clay.  Up  in  the  lof  by  a  trap  door,  an'  plum  over  the 
feller's  hed,  sot  Joe  Jacksin,  a-holdin  ontu  a  half  barril 
full  ove  warter  outen  a  puddil,  whar  a  misfortinat  dead 
sow  hed  been  floatin  fur  ten  days. 

"  "Well,  the  lecter  begun,  an'  promised  tu  las'  till  day- 
break, fur  the  mersheen  soon  stall'd,  an'  Bake's  juty 
wer  tu  gin  hit  ile  by  readin  frum  the  paper ;  but  he 
red  so  low  that  the  man  cudn't  make  out  what  he  sed, 
so  he  twistid  roun  his  hed  an'  whisper'd,  'louder  an' 
plainer.'  Bake,  instid  ove  duin  better,  got  wus — sot 
intu  readin  in  sum  furrin  tung,  sorter  like  Cherokee, 
wif  a  sprinkil  ove  Irish.  Hit  wer  loud  enuf ;  so  fur 
so  good ;  but  hit  lacked  a  durn'd  site  ove  bein  plainer. 
The  ray  sure  renovator  stood  wif  his  hed  high  an' 
squar  tu  the  congregashun,  his  eyes  takin  a  site  jis' 
abuv  thar  heds<  an'  a-gittin  rounder  an'  bigger  at  ever^ 


64  A  RAZOR-GRINDER  IN  A  THUNDER-STORM. 

word ;  you  cud  see  the  whites  all  roun  them ;  an'  ha 
wer  a  pursin  up  his  mouf  like  ontu  a  tied  bag.  I  wer 
listnin  fur  him  tu  whistil  nex  thing. 

"  '  Tshish !  tshish !'  sorter  low  like,  now  begun  tu  cum 
outen  the  wimin  an'  boys,  all  over  the  house.  The 
ole  men's  specks  begun  tu  shine,  an'  thar  mouf  ainds 
hed  started  towar'd  thar  years.  The  feller  hissef  begun 
tu  twist  sorter  like  pisants  wer  surveyin  a  railroad 
route  up  his  laigs ;  eyes  still  spreadin,  an'  the  infunel 
Cherokee  gittin  louder — not  a  durnd  word  in  Inglish — 
when  '  bo-lang '  went  the  canyun,  litin  up  all  the  town 
smashin  in  the  winders,  an'  shakin  down  the  plasterin. 
Imejuntly  Joe  Jacksin  up-sot  the  kaig,  kerswish-se- 
lush  cum  the  warter  ontu  Mr.  Grinder's  hed,  every  drap 
ove  hit 

"  Fur  a  momint  he  look'd  like  a  iron  statoot  ove  a 
durn'd  fool  in  a  playin  fountin. 

"  He  wer  dresst  in  a  linnin  bob-tail  coat,  an'  trowsis, 
an'  no  drawers  ;  the  warter  made  them  hug  him  pow'ful 
clost,  an'  look  a  heap  thinner ;  yu  cud  see  the  adjact 
laingth  ove  his  shut-tail,  the  width  ove  the  hem,  an' 
even  tu  the  moles  on  his  laigs,  an'  the  har  on  his  shins. 

"  He  cum  tu  hissef  like  he  wer  used  tu  bein  difck't, 
shook  the  warter  ofen  hissei  like  ontu  a  dorg,  an'  sez 
he :  '  Ladies  an'  gentlemen,  when  I  seed  the  litenin, 
an'  hearn  the  thunder,  I  'spected  a  pow'ful  rain-storm, 
an'  hit  am  here."  (Here  he  tuck  a  smell  ove  fust  wun 
coat  sleeve,  an'  then  tuther,  an'  turn'd  up  the  pint  ove 


A.  RAZOR-GRINDER  IN  A  THUNDER-STORM.  65 

his  nose. )  '  So,  owin  tu  the  inclemuncy  ove  the  nite,  I 
dismissis  this  yere  congregashun,  siner  diar,'  (here  he 
tuck  anuther  smell  at  his  sleeve ;)  'an'  ef  yu  hesn't  been 
vaxinashun'd  for  the  yaller  fever,  cholery,  an'  the 
black-tung,  yu'd  better  leave  this  yere  town,  fur  they's 
all  a-cummin  if  thar's  enything  in  the  smell  ove  a  rain. 
Nobody  claim'd  baek  thar  dime,  an'  Bake  can't  fur  the 
soul  ove  him  fix  that  case  up  tu  this  day,  hu  got  the 
bes'  of  hit,  the  raysure-grinder  ur  tuther  side ;  sum- 
times  he  thinks  mm,  sumtimes  tuther." 

While  Sut  was  telling  this  story,  a  fat-headed  young 
man  listened  throughout  without  moving  a  muscle  of 
his  face  ;  when  it  was  finished  he  raised  his  expression- 
less eyes  and  asked :  "  Did  anybody  laugh  at  the  un- 
fortunate man  that  night,  Mr.  Lovingood  ?" 

Sut  eye'd  him  for  a  moment,  from  head  to  foot  and 
back  again,  with  an  expression  of  supreme  contempt, 
and  shambling  off,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder, 
said:     "Yu  mus'  be  a  dam  fooL" 


OLD  SKISSIM'S  MIDDLE  BOY. 


"Wheist  I  war  a  littil  over  half  grown,  hed  sprouted 
my  tail  feathers,  an'  wer  beginnin  tu  crow,  thar  wer  a 
livin  in  the  neighborhood  a  dredful  fat,  mean,  lazy  boy, 
'bout  my  age.     He  wer  the  middil  son  ove  a  ole  lark, 
name  Skissim.     He  tinkered  ontu  ole  clocks,  an'  spin- 
in  wheels,  et  lye  hominy,  an'  exhortid  at  meetin  fur  a 
livin,  while  this  middil  boy  ove  hisen,  did  the  sleepin 
fur  the  hole  famurly.     He  cud  beat  a  hog  an'  a  hungry 
dorg  eatin,  an'  then  beat  his  eatin  wif  his  sleepin,  es  bad 
es  his  eatin  beat  the  eatin  ove  a  rat,  arter  bein  shut  in  a 
church,  ur  a  snake  in  a  jug  wif  no  mouf  tu  hit.     They 
waked  him  tu  eat,  an'  then  hed  tu  wake  him  agin  tu 
make  him  quit  eatin ;  waked  him  tu  go  tu  the  spring, 
an'  waked  him  tu  start  back  agin ;  waked  him  tu  say 
his  prayers,  an'  waked  him  tu  stop  sayin  'em.     In  fac 
they  wer   allers  a-wakin  him,  an'  he  wer  allers  a-goin 
tu  sleep  agin.     Ole  Skissim  waked  'im  wif  a  waggin 
whip,  an'    a  buckshot   in  the  cracker,  what  he  toted 
apupus.     His  mam  waked  him   wif  the  tea-kittil  an' 
scaldin  warter.     Bof  the  buck-shot  cracker  an'  the  war- 
ter  los  thar  vartu  et  las,  an'  they  jis'  gin  him  over  tu 


/ 


OLD   SKISSIm's  MIDDLE    BO?.  6? 

onaindin  sleepin,  an'  onmitigated  hardness  ove  hed. 
Charley  Dickins's  son,  the  fat  boy,  mout  been  es  ni  kin 
tu  him  es  a  secund  cuzzin,  ef  his  mam  wer  a  pow'ful 
wakeful  'oman. 

I  hedn't  foun'  out  then,  sartinly,  that  I  wer  a  natr'l  ^ 
born  durnd  fool.     I  sorter  suspishiond  hit,  but  still  hed 
hopes.     So  I  wer  fool  enuf  tu  think  I  wer  smart  enufli 
tu  break  him  frum  snoozin  all  the  time,  so  I  lay  wake 
ove  nites  fur  a  week,  fixin  the  way  tu  du  hit ;  an'  that 
minds  me  tu  tell  yu  what  I  thinks  ove  plannin  an'  stud- 
dyin :  hit  am  ginerly  no  count.     All  pends,  et  las'  on 
what  yu  dus  an'  how  yu  kerries  yursef  at  the  moment 
ove   ackshun.     Sarcumstances   turn  about  pow'ful  fas', 
an'  all  yu  kin  du  is  tu  think  jis'  es  fas  es  they  kin  turn, 
an'  jis'  es  they  turn,  an'  ef  yu  du  this,  I'm  durnd  ef  yu 
don't  git  out  sumhow.     Long  studyin  am  like  preparin 
a  supply  ove  warter  intu  a  wurm  hole  barril,  tu  put  out 
fire :  when  the  fire  dus  cum,  durn'd  ef  yu  don't  hev  tu 
hustil  roun  pow'ful  fas',  an'  git  more  warter,  fur  thar's 
nun  in  the  barril.     But  es  I  wer  a-tellin  yu,  I  studied 
out  at  las'  a  plan  what  I  thort  wud  wake  the  devil ;  an' 
I  sot  in  tu  kerrin  hit  out. 

The  ole  man  Skissim  an'  his  wife  went  tu  a  nite 
meetin,  an'  tuck  the  ballance  ove  his  ur  rather  her  brats 
■ — a  feller  shu'd  allers  be  pow'ful  keerful  in  speakin  on 
that  pint .  I'se  allers  hearn  that  hit  tuck  a  mons'us 
wise  brat  tu  know  hits  daddy,  an'  I  thinks  hit  takes  a 
wiser  daddy  tu  know  his  own  brats.     Dad  never  wud 


68  old  skissim's  MIDDLE  boy. 

speak  sartin  bout  eny  ove  our  famerly  but  me,  an'  he 
counted  fur  that  by  sayin  I  wer  by  a  long  shot  tu  cus- 
sed a  fool  tu  belong  tu  eny  body  else,  so  I  am  a  Lovin* 
good.  My  long  laigs  sumtimes  sorter  bothers  me,  but 
then  mam  tuck  a  pow'ful  skeer  et  a  san-hill  crane  a-sit- 
tin  on  a  peel'd  well-pole,  an'  she  out-run  her  shadder 
thuty  yards  in  cumin  half  a  mile.  I  speck  I  owes  my 
laigs  an'  speed  tu  that  sarcumstance  an'  not  tu  eny  fraud 
on  mam's  part. 

Well,  they  went  tu  nite  meetin  an'  lef  him  in  the 
kitchin  fas'  asleep,  belevin  tu  fine  him  right  thar  when 
they  cum  back ;  but  they  wer  mistaken'd  that  pop,  fur 
when  they  cum  they  foun  the  widest  awake  boy  ever 
born'd  in  that  ur  eny  uther  house,  ur  outen  doors  either, 
an'  es  tu  bein  rite  thar  he  warn't  by  a  durn'd  site ;  he 
wer  here,  thar,  an'  every  whar,  et  the  same  time,  an'  ef 
he  hed  any  apertite  fur  vittils  jis'  then,  he  didn't  hang 
out  his  sign,  that  I  cud  see. 

They  lef  him  sittin  ontu  a  split-bottom  cheer,  plum 
asleep  all  over,  even  tu  his  ole  hat.  I  tuck  about  thuty 
foot  ove  clothes  line,  an'  tied  him  tu  the  cheer  by  his 
neck,  body,  an'  arms,  levin  his  laigs  loose.  He  looked 
sorter  like  the  Lion  in  the  spellin-book,  when  the  rat 
wer  a-cuttin  a  fish  net  off  ove  him.  That  wern't  a 
skeer'd  rat,  wer  he  ?  I  hed  him  safe  now  tu  practize  on, 
an'  I  sot  in  tu  duin  hit,  sorter  this  way  :  I  painted  his 
face  the  culler  ove  a  nigger  coal-burner,  scept  a  white 
ring  roun  his  eyes ;  an'  frum  the  corners  ove  his  moufj 


old  skissim's  middle  bot.  69 

sorter  downards,  slouch-wise,  I  lef  a  white  strip.  Hit 
made  his  mouf  look  sorter  like  ontu  a  hoss  track  an1 
ni  ontu  es  big.  He  wer  a  fine  picter  tu  study,  ef  your 
mind  wer  fond  ove  skeery  things.  He  look't  savidge 
es  a  sot  steel  trap,  baited  wif  asnick,  an  wer  jis'  fit  fur 
tresun,  straterjim,  an'  tu  spile  things.  Tu  this  day, 
when  I  dreams  ove  the  devil,  dad,  Passun  Bullin,  an' 
uther  orful  oppressive  things,  that  infunel  boy,  es  he 
look't  that  nite,  am  durnd  intermitly  mix't  wif  the  hole 
ove  em.     I  speck  he's  dead  is  the  reason  ove  hit. 

I  screw'd  ontu  each  ove  his  years  a  par  ove  iron  han- 
vices,  what  his  dad  squeezed  ole  clocks,  an'  crac't  war- 
nuts  wif,  an'  they  hung  down  like  over-grow'd  year- 
rings  ;  I  tied  a  gridiron  tu  wun  ankil,  an'  a  par  ove 
fire-tongs  tu  tuther;  I  pour'd  a  bottil  ove  groun  red- 
pepper  down  his  back,  onder  his  shut ;  I  turn'd  loose  a 
pint  ove  June-bugs,  what  I  kotch  apupus,  intu  his  buz- 
zum,  an'  buttoned  em  up ;  I  tied  a  baskit  full  ove  fire 
crakers  tu  the  cheer  back,  tu  his  har,  an'  tu  his  wrists ; 
I  button'd  up  a  big  grey-whisker'd  aggravated  ole  rat, 
tied  wif  a  string  intu  the  slack  ove  his  britches ;  tuther 
aind  ove  the  string  wer  fas'  ontu  his  gallus  button,  an 
the  rat,  like  all  the  res'  ove  that  tribe,  imejuntly  sot  in 
cuttin  his  way  out ;  but  owin  tu  his  parvarse  nater  ur 
the  darkness  ove  the  place,  he  sot  in  tu  cuttin  the  wrong 
way ;  he  wer  a  workin  towards  the  back-bone,  an'  fur- 
der  frum  the  britches,  every  cut.  I  learnt  this  fac' 
frum  the  cheer  risin  frum  the  flure,  an'  fallin  agin  jis' 


70  OLD  SKISSIM;S    MIDDLE  BOY. 

tu  rise  imejuntly  a  littil  higher,  an'  sum  souns,  a  mix' 
try  ove  snort,  snore,  grunt,  an'  groan,  which  he  wer  be 
ginin  tu  isoo  tolabil  fas',  an'  gettin  louder  every  bounce 
ove  the  cheer,  an'  becumin  more  like  ontu  a  howl  every 
pop.  In  the  beginin  ove  his  oneasines  he  dream'd  ove  l/ 
wagin  whip,  nex'  he  dream'd  ove  a  tea-kittil  es  big  es  a 
still,  an'  lots  ove  bilin  wartar,  an'  nex  he  drempt  ove 
bof  ove  'em ;  an'  now  he  wer  a  dreamin  that  the  tea- 
kittil  wer  a  steam  ingine,  a  drivin  the  waggin  whip,  an' 
a  cottin  gin  wif  red  hot  saws  fifteen  hundred  licks  a 
minit,  an'  that  he  wer  in  the  cottin  hopper. 

I  now  thot  hit  ni  ontu  the  proper  time  tu  tetch  the 
crackers,  so  es  tu  hev  everything  bar  hits  shar  in  the 
kontemplated  cummin  waknin.  An'  I  did  hit.  The 
fust  handful  ur  so  gwine  off  help'd,  wif  the  industry  ove 
that  energetic  ole  rat,  the  sarchin  ove  the  red  pepper,  an' 
the  permiskus  scratchin  roun  ove  the  bugs,  tu  begin  tu 
wake  him  sorter  gradully,  a  littil  faster  nor  light  bread 
rises,  an'  a  littil  slower  then  a  yeathquake  wakes-wea- 
zels.  A  few  hundred  more  gwine  off,  still  hevin  the 
rat,  pepper,  an'  insex  tu  back  em,  got  him  wide  enuf 
awake  tu  bleve  that  he  wer  threatened  wif  sum  orful 
pussonal  calamerty,  what  wanted  pow'ful  quick  work 
on  his  part  tu  dodge.  He  wer  awake  now  all  over 
even  tu  his  durnd  ole  hat,  an'  he  show'd  hit  in  es  meny 
ways  es  a  cat  dus,  lock'd  up  in  a  empty  room  wif  a 
strange  an'  interprisin  big  dorg. 

He  grabbed  the  fire  shovil,  an'  bounc'd  half  bent 


OLD  SKISSIM  S    MIDDLE   BOY.  71 

(the  cheer  kep  him  frum  straitin  up)  all  over  that  kitch- 
en, a  strikin  over-handed,  onder-handed,  up-handed, 
down-handed,  an'  lef-handed,  at  every  'spishus  shadder 
he  seed.  He  fit  by  the  light  ove  ten  million  sparks  ;  he 
wer  es  active  as  a  smut-mercheen  in  full  blast,  an'  every 
grain  ove  wheat  a  spark.  An'  he  wer  a  hollerin  every- 
thing anybody  ever  did  holler  in  dredful  tribulashun  ove 
spirit,  even  tu,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  tu  sleep,"  an' 
"Gloree." 

When  I'se  in  trubbil,  skeer,  ur  tormint,  I  dus  but 
wun  thing,  an'  that's  onresistabil,  onekeled,  an'  durn'd 
fas'  runnin,  an'  I  jis'  keeps  at  hit  till  I  gits  cumfort. 
Now  his  big  idear  onder  nise  an'  varigated  hurtin  wer 
tu  fite,  an'  keep  on  a-fitin,  ontil  peace  ove  mine  cum. 
I  never  seed  sich  keryins  on  in  all  my  bom'd  days. 
He  made  more  fuss,  hit  more  licks  at  more  things,  wer 
in  more  places,  an'  in  more  shapes,  in  a  shorter  time, 
then  eny  mortal  auctioneer  cud  tell  ef  he  hed  es  meny 
tungs  es  a  baskit  full  ove  buckils.  Every  now  an'  then 
he'd  gin  his  head  a  vishus,  vigrus  shake,  an'  the  han- 
vices  wud  hit  him  fore  an'  arter,  till  his  skull  rattiled 
like  ontu  a  ole  gourd. 

The  ole  Skissim  an'  his  tribe  cum  home  frum  meet- 
in,  an'  hearin  the  onyeathly  riot,  thort  sumbody  hed 
opened  a  dorggery  in  thar  kitchen,  an'  that  a  neighoor- 
hood  fite  wer  gwine  on,  an'  every  feller's  dorg  along. 
They  rushed  in  tu  drive  out  the  crowd,  an'  capter  the 
whisky,  an'  a  durnder  more  misfortinit  mistake  never 


72  old  skissim's  middle  boy. 

wer  made  by  a  man,  'oman,  an'  a  string  ove  fifteen 
brats,  since  ole  Bill  Shivers  went  fur  a  runnin  threshin« 
meesheen  tu  smash  hit,  thinkin  hit  wer  a  big  musick> 
box. 

The  ole  hoss  hisse'f  imejuntly  cum  in  contack  wif 
a  holesum  knock  down,  what  calm'd  him  intu  sumthin 
mons'us  like  sleep,  fur  about  a  minit.  Now  a  heap  ove 
things  ken  happen  in  a  minit,  purtickerly  ef  thar's  sum- 
body  who  hes  sot  his  hole  soul  tu  the  bisiness  ove 
makin  em  happen.  Hit  wer  so  in  that  kitchen.  Agin 
the  ole  feller  cum  tu  the  ole  'oman  wer  knocked  hed 
fust  intu  the  meal-barril,  whar  she  wer  breathin  more 
meal  nur  air,  an'  she  wer  snortin  hit  up  over  the  aidges 
ove  the  barril  like  hit  wer  a  fountin  playin  corn  meal. 
The  ol'est  gal  wer  sturn  fas'  in  a  soap-kittil,  an'  she  wor 
a-makin  suds  outen  sum  ove  hit.  The  nex'  wun  wer 
laingthwise  belly  down  in  the  pot  corner.  The  biggest 
boy  wer  whar  the  back-log  orter  been,  ontu  his  all  fours 
a-scratchin  up  all  the  embers  an'  ashes,  a-tryin  tu  cum 
out  frum  thar.  Anuther  cub,  in  a  jackid  wif  a  wun 
inch  tail,  wer  knocked  plum  thru  the  tin  intu  the  safe 
amung  the  cold  vitils  an'  things.  A  littil  gal,  doll  baby 
an'  all,  wer  on  the  top  shelf  ove  the  cup-board,  amung 
the  delf,  a-screamin  like  a  littil  steam  whistil. 

The  neighbors  wer  a-getherin  in  roun  the  nise  an' 
rumpus,  an'  not  a  durn'd  wun  hed  the  least  idear  ove 
what  wer  wrong,  sceptin  ove  me.     I  onderstood  hit  all,  v 
durn'd  fool  e3  I  is.     Tu  'scape  frum  bein  'spishioned,  I 


old  skissim's   MIDDLE  BOY.  75 

sot  in  tu  cuttin  the  cheer  loose  es  I  got  chances,  an' 
a-keepin  outen  the  range  ove  that  flyin  fire  shovil,  far  hit 
wer  still  spreadin  hurtin  an'  mischief  on  a  perpetul 
moshun  plan.  Everybody  hit  totch  fell,  an'  everything 
hit  cum  agin  got  grief.  The  tin  buckits  look'd  like 
drunk  men's  hats.  Pails  hed  lef '  thar  hoops,  an'  the 
delf  war  was  in  scrimpshuns.  When  he  got  divorced 
frum  the  cheer,  I  tho't  he'd  sorter  simmer  down.  But 
no  sir !  He  got  wus,  an'  did  his  work  faster  an'  better  ; 
he  wer  as  crazy  as  a  bed-bug,  an'  as  savidge  as  a  mad- 
dorg. 

I  seed  a-cummin,  a  ole  widder,  what  wer  a  pow'ful 
pius  turn'd  pusson,  in  the  same  church  wif  ole  Skissim, 
an'  she  wer  the  news-kerrier  gineral  ove  the  neighbor- 
hood. Folks  sed  that  they  hed  a  religus  feelin  fur  each 
uther,  what  led  tu  meny  love-feas,  wif  nobody  at  em  but 
tharsefs,  an'  wer  bof  doin  mouns'ous  well,  considerin 
the  thorn  in  the  flesh.     Sez  she — 

"  Oh,  my  soul !  Du  tell  me  what  lies  happened  I  Oh, 
lordy  massy!"  sed  I,  "hits  a-happenin  yet!"  a-lookin 
orful  solemn  in  the  moonshine.  -Sez  I,  "  I'll  tell  yu,  es 
I  knows  yu  won't  speak  ove  hit ;  fur  ef  hit  gits  out,  hit 
mout  make  the  pepil  sorter  think  hard  ove  Mister  Skis- 
sim. He  cum  home  frum  meetin  plum  crazy,  talkin 
about  the  seventh  cumandment,  an'  he's  sot  intu  mur- 
derin  hes  folks  wif  a  crowbar.  He  hes  dun  got  his  wife 
an'  six  ove  the  brats ;  thar  a-lyin  in  thar  es  cold  es 
krout ;  an'  he's  hot  arter  the  rest  ove  em ;  sez  he's  in  a 


74  old  skissim's  middle  boy. 

hurry  tu  git  thru,  es  he  hes  yu  tu  kill  an'  salt  down 
afore  day.  Now  I  know  by  that  he's  turn'd  durned 
fool." 

1  She  never  sed  a  word,  but  put  out  fur  Squir 
Haley's,  an'  swore  her  life  agin  ole  Skissim,  an'  tuck 
out  a  warrint  fur  him  a-chargin  murder,  arson,  blasfemy, 
fleabottomry  an'  rape.  Hit  skeer'd  ole  Skissim  ontil 
he  run  away. 

By  the  time  I  got  dun  inlitenin  the  widder,  that  ar 
onquinchable  boy  hed  the  kitchen  all  tu  hissef.  Every- 
body wer  feard  tu  go  ni  the  door.  Now  yu  cudent 
guess  in  ten  year  what  he  then  went  an'  did.  He  jis' 
made  a  piller  outen  the  cheer,  an'  sot  intu  sleepin  agin. 
Ef  ever  I'se  call'd  on  tu  stop  his  sleepin  eny  more  agin. 
I'll  try  a  muskit  an'  sixteen  buckshot,  at  jis'  about  ten 
stepe.  . 


BLOWN  UP  WITH  SODA. 


Sut's  hide  is  healed — the  wounds  received  in  his 
sudden  separation  from  his  new  shirt  have  ceased  to 
pain,  and,  true  to  his  instincts,  or  rather  "  a  famerly 
dispersition,"  es  he  calls  it,  he  "pitches  in,"  and  gets 
awfully  blown  up  by  a  wild  mountain  girL  Hear  him, 
poor  fellow ! 

"George,  did  yu  ever  see  Sicily  Burns?  Her  dad 
lives  at  the  Rattil-snake  Spring,  clost  ontu  the  Georgia 
line." 

"  Yes,  a  very  handsome  girl." 

"  Handsome !  that  ar  word  don't  kiver  the  case ;  hit 
souns  sorter  like  callin  good  whiskey  strong  water, 
when  yu  ar  ten  mile  frum  a  still -hous,  hit  a  rainin,  an' 
yer  flask  only  haf  full.  She  shows  amung  wimen  like 
a  sunflower  amung  dorg  fennil,  ur  a  hollyhawk  in  a 
patch  ove  smartweed.  Sich  a  buzzim  !  Jis'  think  ove 
two  snow  balls  wif  a  strawberry  stuck  but-ainded  intu 
bof  on  em.  She  takes  adzactly  fifteen  inches  ove  garter 
clar  ove  the  knot,  stans  sixteen  an'  a  'alf  hans  hi,  ari 
weighs  one  hundred  an'  twenty-six  in  her  petticoatai] 


76  BLOWN  UP  WITH  SODA. 

afore  brekfus'.  She  cudent  crawl  thru  a  whisky  barrel 
wif  bof  heads  stove  out,  nur  sit  in  a  common  arm-cheer, 
while  yu  cud  lock  the  top  hoop  ove  a  chun,  ur  a  big 
dorg  collar,  roun  the  huggin  place." 

"The  what,  Sut?" 

"The  Wats'  yu  durn  oninishiated  gourd,  yu!  Her 
har's  es  black  es  a  crow's  wing  et  midnite,  ur  a  nigger 
hanlin  charcoal  when  he's  hed  no  brekfus' ;  hit  am  es 
slick  es  this  yere  bottil,  an'  es  long  es  a  hoss's  tail.  I've 
seed  her  jump  over  a  split-bottim  cheer  wifout  showin 
her  ankils,  ur  ketchin  her  dress  ontu  the  knobs.  She 
cud  cry  an'  larf  et  the  same  time,  an'  either  lov'd  ur 
hated  yu  all  over.  Ef  her  hate  fell  ontu  yu,  yu'd  feel 
like  yu'd  been  whipp'd  wif  a  pizen  vine,  ur  a  broom 
made  outen  nettils  when  yer  breeches  an'  shut  wer  bof 
in  the  wash-tub.  She  kerried  enuf  devil  about  her  tu 
run  crazy  a  big  settilment  ove  Job's  ch'ldren;  her  skin 
wer  es  white  es  the  inside  ove  a  frogstool,  an'  her 
cheeks  an'  lips  es  rosey  es  a  pearch's  gills  in  dorgwood 
blossum  time — an'  sich  a  smile !  why,  when  hit  struck 
yu  far  an'  squar  hit  felt  jis'  like  a  big  ho'n  ove  onrecti- 
fied  ole  Munongahaley,  arter  yu'd  been  sober  fur  a 
month,  a  tendin  ove  a  ten  hoss  prayer-meetin  twist  a 
day,  an'  mos'  ove  the  nites. 

"  Three  ove  her  smiles  when  she  wer  a  tryin  ove  her- 
sef,  taken  keerfully  ten  minutes  apart,  wud  make  the 
gran'  captin  ove  a  temprunce  s'iety  so  durn'd  drunk,  he 
wudn't  no  his  britches  frum  a  par  ove  bellowses,  ur  a 


BLOWN  UP  WITH   SODA.  7> 

pledge  frum  a — a — warter-pot.  Oh !  I  be  chimed  ei 
hits  eny  use  talkin,  that  ar  gal  cud  make  me  murder  ole 
Bishop  Soul,  hissef,  ur  kill  mam,  not  tu  speak  ove  dad, 
ef  she  jis'  hinted  she  wanted  sich  a  thing  dun.  Sich  an 
'oman  cud  du  more  devilmint  nur  a  loose  stud  hoss  et 
a  muster  groun',  ef  she  only  know'd  what  tools  she 
totes,  an'  I'se  sorter  beginin  tu  think  she  no's  the  use 
ove  the  las'  durnd  wun,  tu  a  dot.  Her  ankils  wer  es 
roun',  an'  not  much  bigger  nur  the  wrist  ove  a  rifle-gun, 
an'  when  she  wer  a-dancin,  ur  makin  up  a  bed,  ur  gittin 

over  a  fence Oh  durn  sich  wimen !     Why  aint  they 

all  made  on  the  hempbreak  plan,  like  mam,  ur  Betts 
Carr,  ur  Suke  Miller,  so  they  wundn't  bother  a  feller's 
thinker  et  all. 

"  George,  this  worl  am  all  'rong  enyhow,  more  tem- 
tashun  than  perventitive  ;  ef  hit  wer  ekal,  I'd  stand  hit 
What  kin  the  ole  prechurs  an'  the  ugly  wimen  'spect 
fve  us,  'sposed  es  we  ar  tu  sich  invenshuns  es  she  am  ? 
Oh,  hits  jis'  no  use  in  thar  talkin,  an'  groanin,  an' 
sweatin  tharsefs  about  hit ;  they  mus'  jis'  upset  nater  on- 
tu  her  head,  an'  keep  her  thar,  ur  shet  up.  Less  taste 
this  yere  whisky." 

Sut  continued,  wiping  his  mouth  on  his  shirt-sleeve : 
"  I'se  hearn  in  the  mountins  a  fust  rate  fourth  proof 
smash  ove  thunder  cum  onexpected,  an'  shake  the  yeath, 
bringin  along  a  string  ove  litenin  es  long  es  a  quarter 
track,  an'  es  bright  es  a  weldin  heat,  a-racin  down  a  big 
pine  tree,  tarin  hit  intu  broo«>  splits,  an'  toof  pickers, 


78  BLOWN  UP  WITH  SODA. 

an'  raisin  a  cloud  ove  dus',  an'  bark,  an'  a  army  ovfl 
lim's  wif  a  smell  sorter  like  the  devil  wer  about,  an1 
the  long  darnin  needil  leaves  fallin  roun  wif  a  tif — tif— 
quiet  sorter  soun,  an'  then  a  quiverin  on  the  yeath  es 
littil  snakes  die ;  an'  I  felt  quar  in  my  in'ards,  sorter 
ha'f  cumfurt,  wif  a  littil  glad  an'  rite  smart  ove  sorry 
mix'd  wif  hit 

"  I'se  seed  the  rattil-snake  squar  hissef  tu  cum  at  me, 
a  savin  z-e-e-e-e,  wif  that  nisey  tail  ove  his'n,  an'  I  felt 
quar  agin — mons'rous  quar.  I've  seed  the  Oconee  Riv- 
er jumpin  mad  frum  rock  tu  rock  wif  hits  clear,  cool 
warter,  white  foam,  an'  music  " 

"What,  Sut?" 

"  Music ;  the  rushin  warter  dus  make  music ;  so  dus 
the  wind,  an'  the  fire  in  the  mountin,  an'  hit  gin  me  an 
oneasy  queerness  agin ;  but  every  time  I  look'd  at  that 
gal  Sicily  Burns,  I  hed  all  the  feelins  mix'd  up,  ove  the 
litenin,  the  river,  an'  the  snake,  wif  a  totch  ove  the 
quicksilver  sensashun  a  huntin  thru  all  my  veins  fur 
my  ticklish  place. 

"  Tu  gether  hit  all  in  a  bunch,  an'  tie  hit,  she  wer  gal 
all  over,  frum  the  pint  ove  her  toe-nails  tu  the  aind  ove 
the  longes'  har  on  the  highis  knob  on  her  head — gal  all 
the  time,  everywhar,  an'  wun  ove  the  exhitenis  kine. 
Ove  corse  I  lean'd  up  tu  her,  es  clost  es  I  dar  tu,  an'  in 
spite  ove  these  yere  laigs,  an'  my  appertite  fur  whisky, 
that  ar  shut-skinin  bisness,  an'  dad's  actin  hoss,  she  sor- 
ter lean'd  tu  me,  jis'  a  scrimpshun,  sorter  like  a  keerfuj 


BLOWN  tJP  WITH  SODA.  ?9 

man  salts  uther  pepil's  cattil  in  the  mountin,  barly  enuf 
tn  bring  em  back  tu  the  lick-bog  sum  day — that's  the 
way  she  salted  me,  an'  I  'tended  the  lick-log  es  reg'lar 
es  the  old  bell  cow ;  arc  I  wer  jis'  beginin  tu  think  I 
wer  ontu  the  rite  trail  tu  es  much  cumfurt,  an'  stayin 
awake  a-purpus,  es  ole  Brigham  Young  wif  all  his  sad- 
dil-culler'd  wimen,  an'  the  papers  tu  fetch  more,  ef  he 
wants  em. 

"Well,  wun  day  a  cussed,  palaverin,  inyun-eatin 
Yankee  pedlar,  all  jack-nife  an'  jaw,  cum  tu  ole  man 
Burns  wif  a  carryall  full  ove  appil-parin-mersheens, 
jewsharps,  calliker,  ribbons,  sody-powder,  an'  uther 
durn'd  truck. 

"  Now  mine,  I'd  never  heam  tell  ove  sody-powder  in 
my  born'd  days ;  I  didn't  know  hit  frum  Beltashazur's 
off  ox ;  but  I  no's  now  that  hit  am  was  nur  gunpowder 
fur  hurtin,  an'  durn'd  ni  es  smart  tu  go  off. 

"  That  ar  Yankee  pedlar  hes  my  piusest  prayer,  an'  I 
jis  wish  I  hed  a  kaig  ove  the  truck  intu  his  cussed 
paunch,  wif  a  slow  match  cumin  out  at  his  mouf, 
an'  I  hed  a  chunk  ove  fire.  The  feller  what  foun  a 
mossel  ove  'im  big  enuf  tu  feed  a  cockroach,  orter  be 
turn'd  loose  tu  pastur  amung  seventy-five  purty  wimen, 
an'  foun  in  whisky  fur  life,  becase  ove  his  good  eyes  in 
huntin  los'  things.  George,  a  Yankee  pedlar's  soul 
wud  hev  more  room  in  a  turnip-seed  tu  fly  roun  in. 
than  a  leather- wing  bat  hes  in  a  meetin-hous;  that's 
jis'  so. 


80  BLOWN  UP  WITH  SODA. 

"  Sicily  hed  bot  a  tin  box  ove  the  cold  bilin  truck 
an'  hid  hit  till  I  cum  tu  the  lick-log  agin,  yu  know. 
Well,  I  jis'  happen'd  tu  pass  nex'  day,  an'  ove  corse 
stopp'd  tu  injoy  a  look  at  the  temtashun,  an'  she  wer 
mity  luvin  tu  me.  I  never  felt  the  like — put  mm  arm 
roun  my  naik,  an'  tuther  whar  the  susingil  goes  roun  a 
hoss,  tuck  the  inturn  ontu  me  wif  her  lef '  foot,  an' gin 
me  a  kiss.     Sez  she 

"Sutty,  luv,  I'se  got  sumthin  fur  yu,  a  new  sen- 
sashun  " 

"  An'  I  b'leve  in  hit  strong,  fur  I  begun  tu  feel  hit 
pow'ful.  My  toes  felt  like  I  wer  in  a  warm  krick  wif 
minners  a-nibblin  at  em  ;  a  cole  streak  wer  a  racin  up 
an'  down  my  back  like  a  lizzard  wif  a  tucky  hen  arter 
'im ;  my  hans  tuck  the  ager,  an'  my  hart  felt  hot  an  on- 
satisfied  like.  Then  hit  wer  that  I'd  a-cut  ole  Soul's  froat 
wif  a  hansaw,  an'  never  batted  my  eye,  ef  she'd  a-hinted 
the  needsesity. 

"Then  she  pour'd  'bout  ten  blue  papers  ove  the 
fizilin  powder  intu  a  great  big  tumbler,  an'  es  meny 
white  papers  intu  anuther,  an'  put  ni  ontu  a  pint  ove 
warter  intu  bof  on  em,  stir'd  em  up  wif  a  case-nife,  an' 
gritted  a  morsel  ove  nutmaig  on  top,  the  'saitful  she 
torment  lookin  es  solemn  es  a  jasack  in  a  snow  storm, 
when  the  fodder  gin  out.  She  hilt  wun,  an'  tole  me  tu 
drink  tuther.  I  swaller'd  hit  at  wun  run  ;  tasted  sorter 
salty  like,  but  I  tho't  hit  wer  part  ove  the  sensashun. 
But  I  wer  slitely  mistaken'd ;  hit  wer  yet  tu  cum,  an' 


BLOWN  tJP  WITH  SODA.  81 

warn't  long  'bout  hit,  boss,  better  b'leve.  Ternally  durn 
all  sensashuns  ove  every  spot  an'  stripe  !  I  say.  Then 
she  gin  me  tuther,  an'  I  sent  hit  a  chasin  the  fas'  instal- 
mint  tu  the  sag  ove  my  paunch,  race-hoss  way.  Yu 
see  I'd  got  the  idear  onder  my  har  that  hit  wer  luv-pow 
ders,  an'  I'd  swaller'd  the  devil  red  hot  frum  home, 
a-thinkin  that.  Luv-powders  frum  her  !  jis'  think  ove 
hit  yerse'f  solemnly  a  minit,  an'  sit  still  ef  yu  kin. 

"  Jis'  'bout  the  time  I  wer  ketchin  my  breff,  I  tho't 
t'd  swaller'd  a  thrashin-meersheen  in  full  blast,  wif  a 
euppil  ove  bull-dorgs,  an'  they  hed  sot  intu  fitin ;  an'  I 
felt  sumthin  cumin  up  my  swaller,  monstrus  like  a 
hi  pressur  steamboat.  I  cud  hear  hit  a-snortin,  and 
scizzin.  Kotch  agin,  by  the  great  golly !  tho't  I ;  same 
famerly  dispersishun  tu  make  a  durn'd  fool  ove  myse'f 
jis'  es  ofen  es  the  sun  sets,  an'  fifteen  times  ofener  ef 
thar's  a  half  a  chance.  Durn  dad  evermore,  amen!  I 
say. 

"I  happen'd  tu  think  ove  my  hoss,  an'  I  broke 
far  him.  I  stole  a  hang-dorg  look  back,  an'  thar 
lay  Sicily,  flat  ove  her  back  in  the  porch,  clapin 
her  hans,  screamin  wif  laughin,  her  feet  up  in  the 
air,  a-kickin  em  a-pas'  each  uther  like  she  wer  tryin 
tu  kick  her  slippers  off.  I'se  pow'ful  sorry  I  wer 
too  bizzy  tu  look  at  em.  Thar  wer  a  road  ove  foam 
frum  the  hous'  tu  the  hoss  two  foot  wide,  an'  shoe 
mouf  deep — looked  like  hit  hed  been  snowin — a-pop- 

pin,  an'  a-hissin,  an'  a-bilin  like  a  tub  ove  soap-suds 
4*    ~ 


82  BLOWN  tJP  WITH   SODA. 

wif  a  red  hot  mole-board  in  hit.  I  gethered  a  cherry 
tree  lim'  es  I  run,  an'  I  lit  a-straddil  ove  ole  Blackey, 
a-thrashin  his  hide  like  the  devil  beatin  tan-bark,  an' 
a-hissin  wus  nur  four  thousin  mad  ganders  outen  my 
mouf,  eyes,  nose,  an'  years.  All  this  waked  the  ole 
hoss,  an'  he  fotch  one  rar,  one  kiek,  an'  then  he  went 
— he  jis'  mizzel'd,  skar'd.  Oh  lordy !  how  the  foam 
rolled,  an'  the  hoss  flew !  Es  we  turned  the  corner  ove 
the  gardin  lot,  I  hearn  Sicily  call,  es  clar  es  a  bugle : 

*'  '  Hole  hit  down,  Mister  Lovingood !  hole  hit  down  1 
Wits  a  cure  fur  puppy  luv ;  hole  hit  down  /' 

"  Hole  hit  down !     Hu   ever  hearn  sich  a  onpossi- 

bil Why,  rite  then  I  wer  a-feelin  the  bottim  ove  my 

paunch  cumin  up  arter  hit,  inside  out,  jis'  like  the  bot- 
tim ove  a  green  champain  bottil.  I  wer  spectin  tu  see 
hit  every  blast  That,  wif  what  Sicily  sed,  wer  a-hurtin 
my  thinker  pow'ful  bad,  an'  then  the  ise-warter  idear, 
that  hit  warn't  a  luv-powder  arter  all  that  hurtin — takin 
all  tugether,  I  wer  sorter  wishin  hit  mout  keep  on  till 
I  wer  all  biled  tu  foam,  plum  tu  my  heel-strings. 

"I  wer  aimin  fur  Dr.  Goodman's,  at  the  Hiwasee 
Copper  Mine,  tu  git  sumthin  tu  simmer  hit  down  wif, 
♦vhen  I  met  ole  Clapshaw,  the  suckit-rider,  a-travelin 
to'ards  sumbody's  hot  biskit  an'  fried  chicken.  As  I 
cum  tarin  along,  he  hilt  up  his  hans  like  he  wanted  tu 
pray  fur  me ;  but  es  I  wanted  sumthin  tu  reach  furder, 
?V  take  a  ranker  holt  nur  his  prars  cud,  I  jis'  rambled 
ahead      I  wer  hot  arter  a  ten-hoss  dubbil-actin  steam 


5    * 

A  Sh 


BLOWN   UP  WITH   SODA.  83 

paunch-pump,  wif  wun  aind  sock'd  deep  intu  my  soda 
lake,  an'  a  strong  manbody  doctur  at  tuther ;  hit  wei 
my  big  want  jis'  then.  He  tuck  a  skeer,  es  I  wer  cumin 
strait  fur  him ;  his  faith  gin  out,  an'  he  dodged,  flat 
hat,  hoss,  an'  saddil-bags,  intu  the  thicket.  I  seed  his 
hoss's  tail  fly  up  over  his  back,  es  he  disappear'd  intu 
the  bushes;  thar  mus'  a-been  spurrin  gwine  on  'bout 
thar.  I  liked  his  moshuns  onder  a  skeer  rite  well ;  he 
made  that  dodge  jis'  like  a  mud-turkil  draps  ofen  a  log 
when  a  big  steamboat  cums  tarin  a-pas'.  Es  he  pass'd 
ole  man  Burns's,  Sicily  hailed  'im  tu  ax  ef  he  met  eny- 
body  gwine  up  the  road  in  a  sorter  hurry.  The  poor 
devil  tho't  that  p'raps  he  mout ;  warnt  sure,  but  he  hed 
seed  a  dreadful  forewarnin,  ur  a  ghos',  ur  ole  Belzebub, 
ur  the  Tariff.  Takin  all  things  tugether,  however,  in 
the  litil  time  spar'd  tu  'im  fur  'flection,  hit  mus'  a-been 
a  crazy,  long-laiged  shakin  Quaker,  fieein  frum  the  rath 
tu  cum,  on  a  black  an'  white  spotted  hoss,  a-whipin  'im 
wif  a  big  brush ;  an'  he  hed  a  white  beard  what  cum 
frum  jis  onder  his  eyes  down  tu  the  pumil  ove  the  sad- 
dil,  an'  then  forked  an'  went  tu  his  knees,  an'  frum 
thar  drapp'd  in  bunches  es  big  es  a  crow's  nes',  tu  the 
groun ;  an'  he  hearn  a  soun  like  ontu  the  rushin  ove 
mitey  warters,  an'  he  wer  pow'fully  exersized  'bout  hit 
enyhow.  Well,  I  guess  he  wer,  an'  so  wer  his  fat  hoss, 
an'  so  wer  ole  Blackey,  an'  more  so  by  a  durn'd  site  wer 
me  mysef  Arter  be  cumpos'd  hissef  he  rit  out  his  fool 
noshuns  fur  Sicily,  that  hit  wer  a  new  steam  invenshun, 


84  BLOWN  UP  WITH  SODA. 

tu  spread  the  Catholic  doctrin,  an'  tote  the  Pope's  bulla 
tu  pastur  in  distant  lans,  made  outen  sheet  iron,  ingin 
rubber,  tann'd  leather,  ise  cream,  an'  fat  pine,  an'  that 
the  hoss's  tail  wer  made  outen  iron  wire,  red  hot  at  the 
pint,  an'  a  stream  ove  sparks  es  long  es  the  steerin-oar 
ove  a  flatboat  foller'd  thararter;  an'  takin  hit  all  tu- 
gether  hit  warnt  a  safe  thing  tu  meet  in  a  lane  ove  a 
dark  nite ;  an'  he  tho't  he  hed  a  call  over  the  mountin 
tu  anuther  sarkit ;  that  chickens  warnt  es  plenty  over 
thar,  but  then  he  wer  a  self-denyin  man. 

"Now,  George,  all  this  beard,  an'  spotted  hoss,  an' 
steam,  an'  fire,  an'  snow,  an'  wire  tails,  wer  durn'd 
skeer'd  suckit  rider's  humbug ;  hit  all  cum  outen  my 
paunch,  wifout  eny  vomitin  ur  coaxin,  an'  ef  hit  hedn't, 
I'd  a  dun  been  busted  intu  more  scraps  nur  thar's  aigs 
in  a  big  catfish. 

"  '  Hole  hit  down,  Mister  Lovingood !  hole  hit  down !' 
Now  warnt  that  jis'  the  durndes'  onreasonabil  reques' 
ever  an  'oman  made  ove  man  ?  She  mout  jis  es  well 
ax'd  me  tu  swaller  my  hoss,  an'  then  skin  the  cat  on 
a  cob-web.  She's  pow'ful  on  docterin  tho',  I'll  swar 
tu  that." 

"Why,  Silt?" 

"  Kase  she  cur'd  my  puppy-luv  wif  wun  dost,  durn 
her !     George,  am  sody  pizen  ?" 
'  "No;  why?" 

"  I  sorter  'spected  hit  wer,  an'  I  sot  in,  an'  et  yarbs, 
an'  grass,  an'  roots,  till  J'se  pounoh'd  out  like  ontu  a  oh 


BLOWN  UP  WITH   SODA.  85 

cow ;  my  hole  swaller  an'  paunch  am  tann'd  hard  es 
sole  leather.  I  axes  rot-gut  no  odds  now.  Yere's  a 
drink  tu  the  durndes'  fool  in  the  worl' — jis'  me !" 

And  the  bottom  of  Sut's  flask  flashed  in  the  sun 
light 


SICILY  BUMS'S  WEDDING. 


"  Hey  Ge-orgi  )"  rang  among  the  mountain  slopes ; 
and  looking  up  to  my  left,  I  saw  "  Sut,"  tearing  along 
down  a  steep  point,  heading  me  off,  in  a  long  kangaroo 
lope,  holding  his  flask  high  above  his  head,  and  hat  in 
hand.  He  brought  up  near  me,  banteringly  shaking 
the  half-full  "tickler,"  within  an  inch  of  my  face. 

"  Whar  am  yu  gwine  ?  take  a  suck,  hoss  ?     This  yere 
truck's  ole.     I  kotch  hit  myse'f,  hot  this  mornin  frum 
the  still  wum.     Nara  durn'd  bit  ove  strike-nine  in  hit — 
I  put  that  ar  piece  ove  burnt  dried  peach  in  myse'f  tu 
gin  hit  color — better  nur  ole  Bullen's  plan :  he  puts  in 
tan  ooze,  in  what  he  sells,  an'  when  that  haint  handy, 
he  uses  the  red  warter  outen  a  pon'  jis'  below  his  barn; 
— makes  a  pow'ful  natral  color,  but  don't  help  the  taste 
much.     Then  he  correcks  that  wif  red  pepper  ;  hits  an 
orful  mixtry,  that  whisky  ole  Bullen  makes ;  no  won- 
der he  seed  'Hell-sarpints.'     He's  pisent  ni  ontu  three 
quarters  ove  the  b'levin  parts  ove  his  congregashun  wif 
hit,    an'   tuther  quarter  he's  sot  intu  ruff  stealin  an' 
cussin     Ef  his  still-'ous  don't  burn  down,  ur  he  peg 
out  hisse'f,  the  neighborhood  am  ruinated  a-pas'  salva- 


SICILY  BUBNS'S  WEDDING.  87 

shun.     Haint  lie  the  durndes  sampil  ove  a  passun  yu 
ever  seed  en yhow  ? 

"  Say  George,  du  yu  see  these  yere  well-poles  what  I 
uses  fur  laigs  ?     Yu  sez  yu  sees  em,  dus  yu  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Yery  well ;  I  passed  'em  a-pas'  each  uther  tuther  day, 
right  peart  I  put  one  out  a-head  jis'  so,  an'  then 
tuther  'bout  nine  feet  a-head  ove  hit  agin  jis'  so,  an' 
then  kep  on  a-duin  hit.  I'll  jis'  gin  yu  leave  tu  go  tu 
the  devil  ha'f  hamon,  ef  I  didn't  make  fewer  tracks  tu 
the  mile,  an'  more  tu  the  minit,  than  wer  ever  made  by 
eny  human  man  body,  since  Bark  Wilson  beat  the  saw- 
log  frum  the  top  ove  the  Frog  Mountin  intu  the  Oconee 
River,  an'  dove,  an'  dodged  hit  at  las'.  I  hes  allers 
look'd  ontu  that  performince  ove  Bark's  as  onekel'd  in 
histery,  allers  givin  way  tu  dad's  ho'net  race,  however. 

"  George,  every  livin  thing  hes  hits  pint,  a  pint  ove 
sum  sort.  Ole  Bullen's  pint  is  a  durn'ed  fust  rate, 
three  bladed,  dubbil  barril'd,  warter-proof,  hypockracy, 
an'  a  never-tirein  appertite  fur  bal'-face.  Sicily  Burns's 
pint  am  tu  drive  men  folks  plum  crazy,  an'  then  bring 
em  too  agin.  Gin  em  a  rale  Orleans  fever  in  five  min- 
its,  an'  then  in  five  minits  more,  gin  them  a  Floridy 
ager.  Durn  her,  she's  down  on  her  heels  flat-footed 
now.  Dad's  pint  is  tu  be  king  ove  all  durn'd  fools, 
ever  since  the  day  ove  that  feller  what  cribb'd  up  so 
much  co'n  down  in  Yegipt,  long  time  ago,  (he  run  outen 
his  coat  yu  minds.)    The  Bibil  tells  us  hu  wer  the 


^8  SICILY  BURNS'S   WEDDING. 

stronges'  man — hu  wer  the  bes'  man — hu  wer  the 
meekis'  man,  an'  hu  the  wises'  man,  but  leaves  yu  tu 
guess  hu  wer  the  bigges'  fool. 

"  Well,  eny  man  what  cudent  guess  arter  readin  that 
ar  scrimmage  wif  an  'oman  'bout  the  coat,  haint  sense 
enuf  tu  run  intu  the  hous',  ef  hit  wer  rainin  ded  cats, 
that's  all.  Mam's  pint  am  in  kitchen  insex,  bakin  hoe- 
cake,  bilin  greens,  an'  runnin  bar  laiged.  My  pint  am  in 
takin  aboard  big  skeers,  an'  then  beatin  enybody's  hoss, 
ur  skared  dorg,  a-runnin  frum  onder  em  agin.  I  used 
tu  think  my  pint  an'  dad's  wer  jis'  the  same,  sulky,  un- 
mix'd  king  durn'd  fool ;  but  when  he  acted  hoss,  an' 
mistook  hossflies  fur  ho'nets,  I  los'  heart.  Never  mine, 
when  t  gits  his  'sperence,  I  may  be  king  fool,  but  yet 
great  golly,  he  gets  frum  bad  tu  wus,  monstrus  fas'. 

"Now  ef  a  feller  happens  tu  know  what  his  pint 
am,  he  kin  allers  git  along,  sumhow,  purvided  he 
don't  swar  away  his  liberty  tu  a  temprins  s'ciety,  live 
tu  fur  frum  a  still- 'ous,  an'  too  ni  a  chu'ch  ur  a  jail. 
Them's  my  sentimints  on  'pints,' — an'  yere's  my 
sentimints  ontu  folks :  Men  wer  made  a-purpus  jis' 
tu  eat,  drink,  an'  fur  stayin  awake  in  the  yearly 
part  ove  the  nites:  an'  wimen  wer  made  tu  cook 
the  vittils,  mix  the  sperits,  an'  help  the  men  du  the 
_stayin  awake.  That's  all,  an'  nuthin  more,  onless  hits 
fur  the  wimen  tu  raise  the  devil  atwix  meals,  an'  knit 
socks  atwix  drams,  an'  the  men  tu  play  short  kerds, 
swap  hoasea  wif  fools,  an'  fite  fur  exersise,  at  odd  apells, 


SICILY  BURNS'S  WEDDING.  89 

"  George,  yu  don't  onderstan  life  yet  scarcely  at  all, 
got  a  heap  tu  larn,  a  heap.     But  'bout  my  swappin  my 
laigs  so  fas' — these  yere  very  par  ove  laigs.     I  hed  got 
about   a  fox   squirril   skin  full   ove   biled   co'n  juice 
packed  onder  my  shut,  an'  onder  my  hide  too,  I  mout 
es   well   add,    an'    wer   aimin  fur   Bill  Carr's  on  foot 
When  I  got  in  sight  ove  ole  man  Burns's,  I  seed  ni  on- 
tu  fifty  hosses  an'  muels  hitch'd  tu  the  fence.     Durna- 
shun !  I  jis'  then  tho't  ove  hit,  'twer  Sicily's  wedding 
day.     She   married    ole    Clapshaw,    the   suckit   rider. 
The  very  feller  hu's   faith   gin  out  when  he  met  me 
sendin  sody  all  over  creashun.     Suckit-riders  am  sur- 
jestif  things  tu  me.     They  preaches  agin  me,  an'  I  hes 
no  chance  tu  preach  back  at  them.     Ef  I  cud  I'd  make 
the  institushun  behave  hitsef  better  nur  hit  dus.     They 
hes  sum  wunderful  pints,  George.     Thar  am  two  things 
nobody  never  seed :  wun  am  a  dead  muel,  an'  tuther 
is  a  suckit-rider's  grave.     Kaze  why,  the  he  muels  all 
turn  intu  old  field  school -masters,  an'  the  she  ones  intu 
strong  minded  wimen,  an'  then  when  thar  time  cums, 
they  dies  sorter  like  uther  folks.     An'  the  suckit-riders 
ride  ontil   they  marry ;    ef  they  marrys   money,  they 
turns  intu  store-keepers,  swaps  hosses,  an'  stays  away 
ove  colleckshun  Sundays.     Them  what  marrys,  an'  by 
sum  orful  mistake  misses  the  money,  jis'  turns  intu  pol- 
ertishuns,  sells  '  ile  well  stock,'  and'  dies  sorter  in  the 
human  way  too. 

"  But  'bout  the  wedding.     Ole  Burns  hed  a  big  blac^ 


90  SICILY  BUENS'S  WEDDING. 

an'  white  bull,  wif  a  ring  in  his  snout,  an'  the  rope  tied 
up  roun  his  ho'ns.     They  rid  'im  tu  mill,  an'  sich  like 
wif  a  saddil  made  outen  two  dorgwood  forks,  an'  two 
clapboards,  kivered  wif  a  ole  piece  ove  carpet,  rope  girth, 
an'  rope  stirrups  wif  a  loop  in  hit  fur  the  foot     Ole 
'  Sock,'  es  they  call'd  the  bull,  hed  jis'  got  back  frum 
mill,  an'  wer  turn'd  intu  the  yard,  saddil   an'   all,  tu 
solace  hissef  a-pickin  grass.     I  wer   slungin  roun  the 
outside  ore  the  hous',  fur  they  hedn't  hed  the  manners 
tu  ax  me  in,  when  they  sot  down  tu  dinner.     I  wer 
pow'fully  hurt  'bout  hit,  an'  happen'd  tu  think — sody. 
So  I  sot  in  a-watchin  fur  a  chance  tu  du  sumthin.     1 
fus'  tho't  I'd  shave  ole  Clapshaw's  hoss's  tail,  go  tu  the 
stabil  an'  shave  Sicily's  mare's  tail,  an'  ketch  ole  Burns 
out,  an'  shave  his  tail  too.     While  I  wer  a-studyin  'bout 
this,  ole  Sock  wer  a-nosin  'roun,  an'  cum  up  ontu  a  big 
baskit  what  hilt  a  littil  shattered  co'n ;  he  dipp'd  in  his 
head  tu  git  hit,  an'  I  slipp'd  up.  an'  jerked  the  handil 
over  his  ho'ns. 

"  Now,  George,  ef  yu  knows  the  nater  ove  a  cow 
brute,  they  is  the  durndes'  fools  amung  all  the  beastes, 
('scept  the  Lovingoods ;)  when  they  gits  intu  tribula- 
shun,  they  knows  nuffin  but  tu  shot  thar  eyes,  beller, 
an'  back,  an'  keep  a-backin.  Well,  when  ole  Sock 
raised  his  head  an'  foun  hissef  in  darkness,  he  jis' 
twisted  up  his  tail,  snorted  the  shatter'd  co'n  outen  the 
baskit,  an'  made  a  tremenjus  lunge  agin  the  hous'.  I 
hearn  the  picters  a-hangin  agin  the  wall  on  the  inside 


SICILY  BURNS'S  WEDDING.  91 

a-fallin.  He  fotch  a  deep  loud  rusty  beller,  mout  been 
hearn  a  miJe,  an'  tlien  sot  intu  a  onendin  sistem  ove 
backm  A  big  craw-fish  wif  a  hungry  coon  a-reachin 
fur  him,  wer  jis'  nowhar.  Fust  agin  one  thing,  then 
over  anuther,  an'  at  las'  agin  the  bee-bainch,  knockin 
hit  an'  a  dozen  stan  ove  bees  heads  over  heels,  an'  then 
stompin  back'ards  thru  the  mess.  Hit  haint  much  wuf 
while  tu  tell  what  the  bees  did,  ur  how  soon  they  sot 
intu  duin  hit.  They  am  pow'ful  quick-tempered  littil 
critters,  enyhow.  The  air  wer  dark  wif  'em,  an'  Sock 
wer  kivered  all  over,  frum  snout  tu  tail,  so  clost  yu 
cudent  a-sot  down  a  grain  ove  wheat  fur  bees,  an'  they 
wer  a-fitin  one  anuther  in  the  air,  fur  a  place  on  the 
bull.  The  hous'  stood  on  sidelin  groun,  an'  the  back 
door  wer  even  wif  hit.  So  Sock  happen  tu  hit  hit 
plum,  jis'  backed  intu  the  hous'  onder  'bout  two  hun- 
dred an'  fifty  pouns  ove  steam,  bawlin  orful,  an'  every 
snort  he  fotch  he  snorted  away  a  quart  ove  bees  ofen 
his  sweaty  snout  He  wer  the  leader  ove  the  bigges' 
an'  the  madest  army  ove  bees  in  the  worild.  Thar  wer 
at  leas'  five  solid  bushels  ove  'em.  They  hed  filled  the 
baskit,  an'  hed  lodged  ontu  his  tail,  ten  deep,  ontil  hit 
wer  es  thick  es  a  waggin  tung.  He  hed  hit  stuck  strait 
up  in  the  air,  an'  hit  looked  adzackly  like  a  dead  pine 
kivered  wif  ivey.  I  think  he  wer  the  hottes'  and  wus 
hurtin  bull  then  livin ;  his  temper,  too,  seemed  tu  be 
pow'fully  frustrated.  Ove  all  the  durn'd  times  an'  ker- 
ryins  on  yu  ever  hearn  tell  on  wer  thar  an'  thar  abouta 


92  SICILY  BUENS'S  WEDDING. 

He  cum  tail  fust  agin  the  ole  two  story  Dutch  clock,  an1 
fotch  hit,  bustin  hits  runnin  geer  outen  hit,  the  littil 
■wheels  a-trundlin  over  the  floor,  an'  the  bees  even 
chasin  them.  Nex  pass,  he  fotch  up  agin  the  foot  ove 
a  big  dubbil  injine  bedstead,  rarin  hit  on  aind,  an' 
punchin  one  ove  the  posts  thru  a  glass  winder.  The 
nex  tail  fus'  experdishun  wer  made  aginst  the  cati- 
corner'd  cupboard,  outen  which  he  made  a  perfeck 
momox.  Fus'  he  upsot  hit,  smashin  in  the  glass  doors, 
an'  then  jis'  sot  in  an'  stomp'd  everything  on  the  shelves 
intu  giblits,  a-tryin  tu  back  furder  in  that  direckshun, 
an'  tu  git  the  bees  ofen  his  laigs. 

"Pickil  crocks,  perserves  jars,  vinegar  jugs,  seed 
bags,  yarb  bunches,  paragorick  bottils,  aig  baskits,  an' 
delf  war — all  mix'd  dam  permiskusly,  an'  not  worth  the 
sortin,  by  a  duller  an'  a  'alf.  Nex  he  got  a  far  back 
acrost  the  room  agin  the  board  pertishun ;  he  went  thru 
hit  like  hit  hed  been  paper,  takin  wif  him  'bout  six  foot 
squar  ove  hit  in  splinters,  an'  broken  boards,  intu  the 
nex  room,  whar  they  wer  eatin  dinner,  an'  rite  yere 
the  fitin  becum  gineral,  an'  the  dancin,  squawkin, 
cussin,  an'  dodgin  begun. 

"  Clapshaw's  ole  mam  wer  es  deaf  es  a  dogiron,  an 
sot  at  the  aind  ove  the  tabil,  nex  tu  whar  ole  Sock  bus- 
ted thru  the  wall;  tail  fus'  he  cum  agin  her  cheer, 
a-histin  her  an'  hit  ontu  the  tabil.  Now,  the  smashin 
ove  delf,  an'  the  mixin  ove  vittils  begun.  They  hed 
sot  severil  tabils  tugether  tu  make  hit  long  enu£     So 


SICILY  BURNS'S  WEDDING.  93 

he  jis'  rolled  'em  up  a-top  ove  one  anuther,  an'  thar  sot 
ole  Missis  Clapshaw,  a-straddil  ove  the  top  ove  the  pile, 
a-fitin  bees  like  a  mad  wind-mill,  wif  her  calliker  cap 
in  one  han,  fur  a  wepun,  an'  a  cract  frame  in  tuther, 
an'  a-kickin,  an'  a-spurrin  like  she  wer  ridin  a  lazy 
hoss  arter  the  doctor,  an'  a-screamin  rape,  fire,  an'  mur- 
der, es  fas'  es  she  cud  name  'em  over. 

"Taters,  cabbige,  meat,  soup,  beans,  sop,  dumplins, 
an'  the  truck  what  yu  wallers  'em  in ;  milk,  plates, 
pies,  puddins,  an'  every  durn  fixin  yu  cud  think  ove  in 
a  week,  wer  thar,  mix'd  an'  mashed,  like  hit  had  been 
thru  a  thrashin-meesheen.  Ole  Sock  still  kep  a-backin, 
an'  backed  the  hole  pile,  ole  'oman  an'  all,  also  sum 
cheers,  outen  the  frunt  door,  an'  down  seven  steps  intu 
the  lane,  an'  then  by  golly,  turn'd  a  fifteen  hundred  poun 
summerset  hissef  arter  em,  lit  a-top  ove  the  mix'd  up 
mess,  fiat  ove  his  back,  an'  then  kicked  hissef  ontu  his 
ieet  agin.  About  the  time  he  ris,  ole  man  Burns — yu 
Jciow  how  fat,  an'  stumpy,  an'  cross-grained  he  is,  eny- 
how — made  a  vigrus  mad  snatch  at  the  baskit,  an'  got  a 
savin  holt  ontu  hit,  but  cudent  let  go  quick  enuf;  fur  ole 
Sock  jis'  snorted,  bawled,  an'  histed  the  ole  cuss  heels 
fust  up  intu  the  air,  an'  he  lit  on  the  bull's  back,  an'  hed 
the  baskit  in  his  han. 

"  Jis'  es  soon  es  ole  Blackey  got  the  use  ove  his  eyes, 
he  tore  off  down  the  lane  tu  out-run  the  bees,  so  durn'd 
fas'  that  ole  Burns  wer  feard  tu  try  tu  git  off.  So  he 
jis'  socked  his  feet  intu  the  rope  loops,  an'  then  cunv 


94  SICILY  BITRNS'S  WEDDING. 

menc'd  the  durndes'  bull-ride  ever  mortal  man  onder- 
tuck.  Sock  run  atwix  the  hitched  critters  an'  the  rail- 
fence,  ole  Burns  fust  fitin  him  over  the  head  wif  the 
baskit  tu  stop  him,  an'  then  fitin  the  bees  wif  hit  I'll 
jis'  be  durn'd  ef  I  didn't  think  he  hed  four  ur  five  bas- 
Mts,  hit  wer  in  so  meny  places  at  onst  Well,  Burns, 
baskit,  an'  bull,  an'  bees,  skared  every  durn'd  hoss 
an'  muel  loose  frum  that  fence — bees  ontu  all  ove  'em, 
bees,  by  golly,  everywhar.  Mos'  on  'em,  too,  tuck  a 
fence  rail  along,  fas'  tu  the  bridil  reins.  Now  I'll  jis' 
gin  yu  leave  tu  kiss  my  sister  Sail  till  she  squalls,  ef 
ever  sich  a  sight  wer  seed  ur  sich  nises  hearn,  es  filled 
up  that  long  lane.  A  heavy  cloud  ove  dus',  like  a 
harycane  hed  been  blowin,  hid  all  the  hosses,  an'  away 
abuv  hit  yu  cud  see  tails,  an'  ainds  ove  fence-rails 
a-flyin  about ;  now  an'  then  a  par  ove  bright  hine  shoes 
wud  flash  in  the  sun  like  two  sparks,  an'  away  ahead 
wer  the  baskit  a-sirklin  roun  an'  about  at  randum. 
Brayin,  nickerin,  the  bellerin  ove  the  bull,  clatterin  ove 
runnin  hoofs,  an'  a  mons'ous  rushin  soun,  made  up  the 
noise.  Lively  times  in  that  lane  jis'  then,  warnt  thar  ? 
"  I  swar  ole  Burns  kin  beat  eny  man  on  top  ove  the 
yeath  a-fitin  bees  wif  a  baskit  Jis'  set  'im  a-straddil  ove 
a  mad  bull,  an'  let  thar  be  bees  enuf  tu  exhite  the  ole 
man,  an'  the  man  what  beats  him  kin  break  me. 
Hosses  an'  muels  wer  tuck  up  all  over  the  county,  an' 
sum  wer  forever  los'.  Yu  cudent  go  eny  course,  in  a 
cirkil  ove  a  mile,  an'  not  find  buckils,  stirrups,  straps, 


SICILY  BURNS's   WEDDING.  95 

saddil  blaakits,  ur  sumthin  belongin  tu  a  saddil  hoss. 
Now  don't  forgit  that  about  that  hous'  thar  wer  a  good 
time  bein  had  ginerally.  Fellers  an'  gals  loped  outen 
windows,  they  rolled  outen  the  doors  in  bunches,  they 
clomb  the  chimleys,  they  darted  onder  the  house  jis' 
tu  dart  out  agin,  they  tuck  tu  the  thicket,  they  rolled 
in  the  wheat  field,  lay  down  in  the  krick,  did  every- 
thing but  stan  still.  Sum  made  a  strait  run  fur  home, 
an'  sum  es  strait  a  run  frum  home ;  livelyest  folks  I 
ever  did  see.  Clapshaw  crawled  onder  a  straw  pile  in 
the  barn,  an'  sot  intu  prayin — yu  cud  a-hearn  him  a 
mile — sumthin  'bout  the  plagues  ove  Yegipt,  an'  the 
pains  ove  the  secon  death.     I  tell  yu  now  he  lumbered. 

"  Sicily,  she  squatted  in  the  cold  spring,  up  tu  her 
years,  an'  turn'd  a  milk  crock  over  her  head,  while  she 
wer  a  drownin  a  mess  ove  bees  onder  her  coats.  I 
went  tu  her,  an'  sez  I,  '  Yu  hes  got  anuther  new  sensa- 
shun  haint  }^u  ?  '     Sez  she — 

"  '  Shet  yer  mouth,  yu  cussed  fool !' 

"  Sez  I,  '  Power'ful  sarchin  feelin  bees  gins  a  body, 
don't  they  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  lordy,  lordy,  Sut,  these  yere  'bominabil  insex 
is  jis'  burnin  me  up  !' 

"  '  Gin  'em  a  mess  ove  sody,'  sez  I,  'that'll  cool  'em 
off,  an'  skeer  the  las'  durn'd  one  ofen  the  place.' 

"  She  lifted  the  crock,  so  she  cud  flash  her  eyes  at 
me,  an'  sed,  '  Yu  go  tu  hell !'  jis  es  plain.  I  thought, 
takin  all  things  tugether,  that  p'raps  I  mout  es  well  put 


96  SICILY   BURNS'S   WEDDING. 

the  mountin  atwix  me  an'  that  plantashun ;  an'  I  did 
hit. 

"  Thar  warnt  an'  'oman,  nr  a  gal  at  that  weddin,  but 
what  thar  frocks,  an'  stockins  wer  too  tite  far  a  week. 
Bees  am  was  on  wimen  than  men,  enyhow.  They 
hev  a  farer  chance  at  'em.  Nex  day  I  passed  ole  Haw- 
ley's,  an'  his  gal  Betts  wer  sittin  in  the  porch,  wif  a 
white  hankerchef  tied  roun  her  jaws ;  her  face  wer  es 
red  es  a  beet,  an'  her  eyebrows  hung  'way  over  heavy. 
Sez  I,  '  Hed  a  fine  time  at  the  weddin,  didn't  yu  ?'  '  Yu 
mus'  be  a  durn'd  fool,'  wer  every  word  she  sed.  I 
hadent  gone  a  hundred  yards,  ontil  I  met  Missis  Brady, 
her  hans  fat,  an'  her  ankils  swelled  ontil  they  shined, 
Sez  she, — 

"  '  Whar  yu  gwine,  Sut  ?' 

"  '  Bee  huntin,'  sez  I. 

"  '  Yu  jis'  say  bees  agin,  yu  infunel  gallinipper,  an' 
I'll  scab  yer  head  wif  a  rock.' 

"  Now  haint  hit  strange  how  tetchus  they  am,  on  tho 
subjick  ove  bees  ? 

"  Ove  all  the  durn'd  misfortinit  weddins  ever  since  ole 
Adam  married  that  heifer,  what  wer  so  fon'  ove  talkin 
tu  snaix,  an'  eatin  appils,  down  ontil  now,  that  one  ove 
Sicily's  an'  Clapshaw's  wer  the  worst  one  fur  noise,  dis- 
appintment,  skeer,  breakin  things,  hurtin,  trubbil,  vexa* 
shun  ove  spirrit,  an'  gineral  swellin.  Why,  George,  her 
an'  him  cudent  sleep  tugether  fur  ni  ontu  a  week,  on  ac 
qo/unt  ove  the  doins  ove  them  ar  hot-footed,  'vengeful 


SICILY  BUENS'S   WEDDING.  97 

'bominabil  littil  insex.  They  never  will  gee  tugether, 
got  tu  bad  a  start,  mine  what  I  tell  yu.  Yu  haint  time 
now  tu  hear  how  ole  Burns  finished  his  bull-ride,  an' 
how  I  cum  tu  du  that  lofty,  topliftical  speeiment  ove 
fas'  runnin  I'll  tell  yu  all  that,  sum  uther  time.  Ef 
eny  ove  'em  axes  after  me,  tell  'em  that  I'm  over  in  Fan- 
nin, on  my  way  tu  Dahlonega.  They  is  huntin  me  tu 
kill  me,  I  is  fear'd. 

"  Hit  am  an  orful  thing,  George,  tu  be  a  natral  born 
durn'd  fool.  Yu'se  never  'sperienced  hit  pussonally, 
hev  yu?  Hits  made  pow'fully  agin  our  famerly,  an 
all  owin  tu  dad.  I  orter  bust  my  head  open  agin  a 
bluff  ove  rocks,  an'  jis'  wud  du  hit,  ef  I  warnt  a  cussed 
coward.  All  my  yeathly  'pendence  is  in  these  yere 
laigs — d've  see  'em?  Ef  they  don't  fail,  I  may  turn 
human  _an  day,  that  is  sorter  human,  enuf  tu  be  a 
Squire?  or  school  cummisiner.  Ef  I  wer  jis'  es  smart 
es  I  am  mean,  an'  ornary,  I'd  be  President  ove  a  "Wild 
Cat  Bank  in  less  nor  a  week.  Is  sperrits  plenty  over 
wif  yu?" 


\y 


OLD  BURNS'S  BULL-RIDE. 


Well,  now,  George,  while  yu  am  waitin'  fur  yer 
chain-kerriers,  I'll  tell  yu  how  old  Burns  flnish'd  that 
onspeakable  Bull-ride,  an'  how  I  won  my  race  agin  all 
his  sons,  thar  houns,  an  the  neighborhood  ginirally- 
Well,  arter  he  got  outen  the  lane,  they  struck  a  piece 
ove  timber  Ian',  an'  thar  he  los'  his  baskit.  Then  he 
betuck  hissef  tu  onwindin  the  rope  ofen  the  bull's  ho'ns, 
an'  wrapp'd  hit  roun  his  lef  han. 

Now  es  hit  happens,  Squire  Mills  hes  a  bull  too — a 
mons'rous  fitin,  cross  ole  cuss,  what  hes  the  Frog  Moun- 
tain fur  his  surkit  this  year.  He  jis'  goes  whar  he 
durn'd  please,  an'  thinks  he  is  the  bes'  man  in  the 
range.  He  happen'd  tu  be  browsin  about  in  this  piece 
ove  woods,  an'  hearin  ole  Sock  a-bellerin,  tuck  hit  fur 
a  challenge ;  so  he  raked  up  sum  dirt  wif  his  huff,  an' 
sprinkild  hit  over  his  back ;  then  he  dug  sum  outen  a 
bank  wif  his  ho'ns,  an'  smelt  ove  hit ;  then  he  tuck  a 
twis'  ur  two  intu  his  tail,  an'  histed  hit,  an'  felt  hissef 
then  ready  fur  activ  sarvice. 

Ole  Sock  an'  his  rider  cum  in  site  a-tarin,  an'  they 
smelt  each  uther.     Both  wer  dead  game  an'  mad,  so  a 


OLD   BURNS'S   BULL-RIDE.  99 

big  fite  wer  morrily  durn'd  certin.  Es  soon  es  old 
Burns  seed  tuther  bull,  he  onderstood  adzackly  what 
wer  a-cumin,  an'  when ;  so  he  leaned  hissef  back  ontu 
the  rope  pow'ful,  till  he  pull'd  the  stirrup  loops  tight 
ontu  his  feet,  an'  hauled  ole  Sock's  nose  an'  lip  'way 
up  atween  his  eyes  by  the  ring,  sorter  like  bustin 
a  rawhide  outen  a  rat  wif  a  ho'n  hook.  His  face  look'd 
like  hit  wer  skin'd,  ur  a  dead  beef's  head  on  a  live 
bull's  body.  He  wer  the  wust  lookin  cow  brute,  in  the 
face,  yu  ever  seed,  an'  hit  made  his  bellerin  soun  like 
he  hed  the  rattils.  But  in  spite  ove  all  this,  he  steamed 
strait  ahead  fur  the  inemy.  He  didn't  keer  a  durn  fur 
enything,  since  his  intercourse  wif  the  bees,  an'  his 
mistification  in  the  baskit 

Ole  Burns  cumenced  snatchin  brush  frum  the  trees, 
fust  one  side  an'  then  tuther,  es  he  pass'd,  an'  then  wa- 
rm ove  em  out  over  the  inside  ove  ole  Sock's  histed 
lip,  squar  down  atwix  his  ho'ns.  Es  fas'  es  he  wore  em 
out,  he  wud  snatch  fur  more  ;  he's  jis'  the  bes'  man  fur 
usin  baskits  ur  brush  in  an  emargincy  I  ever  seed. 
How  he'd  thrive  in  a  bad  'skeeter  country !  They'd 
never  git  in  suckin  distance  ove  him.  But  hit  wer  all 
hard  thrashin  wasted.  The  bellerin-mersheans  associa- 
ted, ari  they  sot  thar  heads  tugether  like  two  drunk 
locomotives  wud.  When  they  hit,  down  cum  thai 
tails,  but  they  histed  em  agin  in  a  moment,  an'  a-shakin 
em  at  the  pints,  like  they  wanted  tu  git  the  dust  outes 
the  har.     The  shock  fotch  ole  Burns  outen  the  dorg 


100  OLD  BUBNS'S  BULL-RIDE. 

wood  saddil,  an'  ontu  the  naik ;  but  he  craw-fish'd  back 
durn'd  quick,  an'  never  stopt  his  thrashin  ove  em  over 
thar  heads  an'  eyes  fur  one  momunt  The  nex  time 
they  mix'd,  they  cum  by  guess  wif  thar  eyes  shot,  fur 
fear  ove  that  perpetul-motion  brush.  Hit  jis'  rain'd 
brush,  well  mix'd  wif  sum  orful  off-han'  cussin. 

The  Mills  bull's  a  mity  smart  critter,  tu  be  only  a 
cow  beas',  an'  h©  preshiated  adzactly  ole  Burns's  power 
wif  a   hanful   ove   brush.     So  while  old  Sock  wer  a 
gwine  thru  a  gran'  charge  blind,  he  tuck  a  circumben- 
dibus roun,  an'  gin  him  Marcy's  game  on  ole  Fuss  an' 
Feathers — a-bustin  hot  fire  in  the  rar.     He  jis'  cum  in 
atween  his  hine  laigs,  an'  burried   his  head  an'  ho'ns 
thar  onder  a  full  run,  a  histin  Sock's  starn  two  foot  clar 
ove  the  yeath,  an'  rite  then  down  cum  his  tail  wif  a 
swish,  an'  he  wer  tuck  along  wheel-barrow  fashun,  ontu 
his   fore  laigs,  pow'ful  agin  his  will  an'  cumfort,  wif 
the  smellin  aind  ove  his  head  draw'd  higher  nor  ever 
to'ards  his   curl,  the  brush-mershean  in  full  blast,  an' 
gittin   faster  an'  harder,  an'  ole  Burns  a-snatchin  ove 
more.     The  bellerin  an'  cussin  wer  mix'd  now  ni  ontu 
es  ekal  es  a  keerful  man  mixes  whisky  an'  wartar,  an1 
the   mixtry   made   a  mos'   doleful   soun.     Ef  you'd  a 
hearn  hit  at  half  a  mile,  yu  wud  a  know'd  thar  wer 
a  heap   ove  hurtin  an'  rath  a-gwine  on  whar  hit  cum 
frum. 

Ole  Sock  wer  hurried  on  in  this  onnaterel  an'  onman- 
erly  manner  over  a  fell  pine  tree,  an'  thar  old  Mills 


*5 


*  3 

E'- 
er a> 


e    ( 


3? 


OLD  BUKNS'S  BULL-KIDE.  101 

stopt,  I  spose  tu  see  the  effeck  ove  his  new  plan  ove 
fitein,  an'  thar  he  did  a  durn'd  fool  thing ;  fur  if  he  hed 
a-kept  that  ar  head  ove  hisn  in  clost  communion  wif 
old  Sock's  stum,  he  wud  been  boun'  tu  spoke  the 
word  afore  long.  But  es  hit  wer,  hit  gin  him  time  tu 
turn  roun'  wif 'cumulated  rath,  the  natrel  bull  fitein 
way. 

Ole  Mills  hed  a  holesum  fear  ove  the  steam  brush- 
mill,  what  Sock  toted  on  his  upper  deck.  So  he  cum 
it  bline  agin,  an'  the  nex  time  they  met  they  miss'd,  an' 
the  ho'n  run  onder  old  Burns's  laig,  an'  atwix  the  rope 
girth  an'  ole  Sock's  hide.  He  gin  a  twis  an'  busted  the 
girth,  swung  that  misfortinat  ole  man  an'  the  saddil 
roun,  an'  then  lent  em  a  big  hist.  Up  they  went,  sad- 
dil fust,  an'  hit  hung  ontu  the  snag  lim  ove  a  ded  pine, 
jis'  high  enuf  tu  let  ole  Burns's  hans  sorter  tetch  groun'. 
Thar  he  hung  by  the  heels. 

He  sot  in  now,  an'  cussed  in  rale  yearnis.  He  mixed 
in  a  littil  prayin  wif  hit  now  an'  then,  fur  thar  wer  a 
streak  ove  skeer  in  his  mad,  es  he  foun'  hissef  hung 
hog-fashun,  an'  a  par  ove  bulls  a-fitein  roun  him.  His 
voice  wer  changed  so  yu  wudent  a-know'd  'im  by  hit ; 
hit  sounded  like  he  wer  down  in  a  well,  ur  hed  a  locus' 
in  his  throat.  He  bemoan'd  his  condishun  pow'ful, 
cuss'd  Sicily  awhile  as  the  fas'  cause,  an'  Clapshaw  as 
the  secon'  cause,  an'  then  went  way  back  twenty-five 
years  an'  cussed  hissef  fur  ever  marryin  at  all,  as  that 
wer  the  beginnin  ove  hit ;  talked  dredful  tu  hear  'bout 


102  OLD  BTJRNs's  BULL-RIDE. 

Bhot-guns,  hickory  clubs,  an'  the  devil's  brimstone 
works,  a-mensunin  my  name  often  in  these  las'  re- 
marks. 

I  tell  yu  hit  wer  tremenjusly  orful  tu  listen  tu,  cumin 
frum  a  man  ove  famerly  an'  property,  hung  up  by  the 
heels  whar  two  dredful  ole  bulls  wer  at  war.  Wun  got 
a-runnin  go  ontu  tuther,  an'  backed  in  agin  the  old 
man  pow'ful  fas' ;  they  pushed  him  es  fur  es  the  rope 
let  em,  an'  tu  make  hit  wus,  he,  a  durn'd  ole  fool, 
grabb'd  a  death  holt  ontu  the  tail,  an'  hilt  on  as  long 
as  he  cud  stan'  hit  fur  his  ankils.  At  las'  he  let 
go,  an'  away  he  swung — tick,  tick,  like  a  durn'd  ole 
clock,  what  wer  behine  time,  an'  wer  a-tryin  tu  ketch 
up  agin ;  an'  him  a-snatchin  at  the  weeds,  an'  grass,  a 
fetchin  handsful  every  swing — the  prayin  an'  cussin 
never  slackin  off  fur  enything.  I  tell  yu  he  lies  lots 
ove  san'  in  his  gizzard ;  he  is  the  bes'  pluck  I  ever 
seed. 

Well  thar  they  fit,  roun  an'  roun,  tarin  up  the  yeath 
an'  roots,  an'  bull  meat ;  he  a-watchin  em  es  well  es  he 
cud  wif  his  head  down.  Torreckly  they  cum  agin  frum 
ahine,  slather  agin  the  ole  feller,  an'  kerried  'im  forrid 
this  time,  an'  not  clock-fashun,  sidewise.  Jis'  es  soon 
£s  the  stum  ove  the  Mills  bull  totch  'im,  he  went  fur  tail 
holt  agin,  an'  by  golly,  he  hilt  hit  this  time  ontil  his 
shoes  cum  off,  an'  he  fell  smack  atop  ove  Mills,  face  tu 
the  tail.  He  tuck  hissef  good  han'  holt  intu  each  ove 
the  flanks,  an'  locked  his  laigs  roun  the  critter's  naik 


S 


OLD    BUENOS   BULL-RIDE  103 

Oh  [  durn  'im  !  he  is  jis'  es  redy  an'  quick  es  a  cat ;  his 
'rangemints  wer  made  tu  stay  thar  all  nite,  an'  far  fear 
ove  acksidents  he  tuck  a  good  bill  holt  on  the  tail  wif 
his  teeth. 

Ole  Mills  now  dident  begin  tu  onderstan'  what  wer 
atop  ove    'im ;  hit  wer  sumthin  sartin  what   hed   bof 

claws  an'  teeth,  an' painter,  flash'd  ontu  his  mine 

wif  all  the  force  the  bill  holt  ontu  his  tail  cud  give  hit. 
Dredful,  dredful  tho't !  His  pluck  wilted,  an'  he  jis' 
turn'd  tail  tu  the  battil  groun,  an'  went  aimin  fur  North 
Caliney,  ole  Sock  a-trottin  arter  'im,  sorter  keerless 
like. 

Now   the    ticklin  intu   his  flanks,  the  chokin  roun' 
his  naik,  an'  the  steel  trap  sprung  ontu  his  tail,  did  dis- 
cumfort    'im    pow'ful.     He  jis'    mizzild.     Every   few 
jumps,  he'd  giv  a  hurried  hurtin  short  beller,  an'  kick 
bof  heels  es  hi  es  he  cud ;  but  ole  Burns  wer  thar,  still 
thar.     By  golly,  golly,  he  wer  groivd  thar.     He  struck 
the  river  at  a  pint  whar  the  bluff  wer  sixty  feet  high, 
abuv  warter  thuty  foot  deep.     Durn'd  ef  ever  he  tho't 
even  ove  measurin  hit,  but  jis'  loped  over  head  down, 
an'  ove  course  the  ole  man  wer  gwine  tail  down.     Jis' 
es  soon  es  he  seed  the  warter  onder  'im,  quick  es  a  cat 
agin,  he  sot  in  tu  climbin  the  tail,  overhandid ;  but  hit 
warn't  eny  use,  George,  fur  they  bof  went  outen  site, 
jis'  bustin  the  river  plum  open.     The  las'  part  gwine 
onder   wer   one  ove  Burns's   hans  a-huntin   roun1  fur 
more   tail   tu   climb.     I   never  seed  sich  waves  in  the 


104  .    OLD   BURNS'S   BULL-RIDE. 

Oconee  afore  ur  since,  an'  the  bluff  wer  wet  tu  the  top, 
an'  draps  ove  warter  wer  fallin  off  the  cedars  on  hits 
brow. 

Thinks  I,  great  Jemimy !  will  they  never  cum  up  ? 
Arter  a  long  time,  up  popp'd  the  ole  man,  already  a- 
headin  fur  this  shore,  an'  away  yander,  the  bull  ris 
ho'ns  fus,  an'  he  aim'd  fur  tuther  bank.  They  bof 
crawl'd  out,  lay  down  in  the  san'  an'  eyed  each  uther 
acrost  the  ruver.  If  iether  ove  em  ho'nd  up  a  mossel 
ove  dirt,  I  dident  see  em  du  hit ;  but  jis'  took  hit  out 
in  restin,  watchin  each  uther,  an'  'vengeful  tho'ts. 
That  man  an'  that  bull  wer  mortul  inemys  fur  life. 

His  sons  foun'  ole  Burns,  an'  haul'd  'im  home  ontu  a 
sled,  kivered  wif  straw  an'  a  bed-quilt.  Mills's  bull 
sought  hissef  aunther  suckit,  an'  becum  es  morril  es  a 
draft-steer.  Ole  Sock  becum  more  depraved,  an'  run 
wile  in  the  mountins,  an'  I  is  jis'  about  es  I  wer,  the 
durndes'  fool  in   the  mess. 

I  jis'  hearn  frum  ole  Burns  yesterday.  He  am  pow- 
erful bad  off;  made  his  will,  a-cuttin  off  old  Sock  wif 
a  shillin,  leavin  Sicily  an'  me  his  maladickshuns,  (what 
am  they  eny  how  ?)  an'  fifty  dullurs  in  trus'  in  ole  Bul- 
len's  hans  fur  the  cumpasmint  ove  my  death.  To  ole 
Clapshaw,  he's  lef  fifteen  feet  ove  new  hemp  rope,  an' 
tu  his  wife,  an'  ole  Missis  Clapshaw,  a  dullar  tu  buy 
asnick. 

Then  thinkin  the  bissines  ove  this  world  dun,  he  jisf 
went  plum  crazy — crazy  es  a  bed-bug  in   July ;  talks 


OLD   BUENS'S   BtJLL-RIDE.  105 

nuffin  but  nonsince ;  sez  the  house  is  upside  down ; 
hears  bees  a  humin  ove  nights,  an'  sees  hole  droves 
ove  bulls  a-ntein  all  day ;  an'  that  I  is  a-standin  atop 
ove  the  bureau,  wif  a  baskit  ove  bees,  a  flingin  hanfuls 
at  his  hed  every  time  he  looks  tuther  way — -jis'  turn'd 
dam  fool,  that's  all. 

All  the  old  quilts  ove  wimen,  an'  the  old  soggy  men 
roun  thar'  visits  'im.  The  wimen  fans  'im,  fixes  the 
bed  close,  an'  biles  yarbs  fur  'im  ;  an'  the  men  iles  his 
bruses,  an'  poltusis  his  body.  Ole  Missis  Burns  is 
mad  as  a  ho'net  bout  that  asnick  claws  in  his  will,  an' 
won't  cum  a-nigh  him ;  sez  she  lies  plenty  ove  swellins 
ove  her  own  tu  swage,  an'  haint  time  tu  waste  on  no 
durn'd  old  ongrateful  murderin  fool.  An'  strange  tu 
tell,  George,  she  sticks  tu  me ;  sez  I  am  the  bes'  ove 
the  lot ;  sez,  too,  that  I  haint  one  half  es  durn'd  a  fool 
es  ole  Burns,  an'  ten  times  more  ove  a  Cristshun  than 
Clapshaw.  Wonder  ef  hit  kin  be  possabil  that  'oman 
is  right  ?     One  thing  am  sartin,  she  am  my  frien'. 

Well,  the  vardick  ove  the  neighborhood  wer,  that  I 

wer  the  cause  ove  all  the  hole  thing.     Greater  injestice 

wer  never  dun ;  fur  all  that  I  did  in  the  worild,  wer 

jist  tu  help  ole  Sock  git  a  few  grains  ove  shatter'd  co'n, 

by  liftin  the  baskit  over  his  ho'ns  ;  an'  when  I  did  hit, 

the  fuss  warn't  begun  a  tall.     Arter'ards,  I  did  nuffin 

but   stan   clar   ove   danger,  an'  watch  things  happen. 

When  they  tuck  the  vote  on  hu  wer  the  cause,  every 

durn'd  one  ove  em  voted  "Sut,"  'scept  Sicily  an'  he  J 
5* 


106  OLD   BUENS'S   BULL-KIDE. 

mam.     Sicily  voted  "  bull  an'  bees ;"  her  mam  voted 
"  Clapshaw." 

Well,  they  all  got  tugether,  beaded  bj  Burns's  two 
big  fox-huntin  sons,  an'  tuck  my  case  in  ban'.  The  fust 
tbing  I  know'ct,  tbey  wer  ontu  my  trail,  bosses,  bouns, 
bo'ns,  muskits,  shot-guns,  cur  dorgs,  an'  all.  Now  my 
superfine  runnin  begun.  I 

Arter  a  long  time,  I  seed  frum  a  bigb  pint  that  one 
ove  tbe  bouns,  down  the   mountin   below   me,  wer  a 
great  way  abead   ove   everything   else,  an'  wud   soon 
cum  up  wif  tbe  slack  ove  my  britches,  so  I  waited  fur 
'im ;  when  he  bulged  fur  my  throat,  I  reached  fur  hisn, 
flung  'im  down,  slit  a  hole  in  each  year,  an'  run  his 
hine  laigs  thro  'em  over  the  hock,  gin  'im  sum  cumfor* 
tin  advice  wif  a  keen  hickory,  an'  laid  'im  down  ontu 
my  trail — he  did  look  powerful,  sorry  far  what  he  had 
dun — an'  then  I  went  tu  travelimagin.      When  the  bal- 
lunce   ove   the  dorgs  cum  up,  (human  like,)  they  all 
pitched  into  the  poor  helpless  devil,  an'  when  the  two- 
laiged  dorgs  cum  up,  he  wer  a-pas'  prayin  fur,  at  leas' 
ha'f  a  mile.     I  beat  em  so  bad,  my  trail  got  too  cold  tu 
foller.     That's  what  1  calls  runnin.     I  feels,  tho',  George, 
like  my  time  mos'  cum.     Fifty  dullars  am  a  heap  ove 
money,  an'  the  mos'  ove  the  wimen  am  agin  me  ;  that's 
the  danjerus  part  ove  hit. 

CC'se  a  goner  I  'speck,  an'  I  jis  don't  keer  a  durn.     I'm 
count,  no  how.     Jis'  look  at  me !     Did  yu  ever  see 
sich  a  sampil  ove  a  human  afore?    I  feels  like  I'd  be 


OLD  BUENS'S   BULL-RIDE.  107 

glad  tu  be  dead,  only  I'se  feard  ove  the  dyin.  I  don't 
keer  fur  herearter,  fur  hits  onpossibil  far  me  tu  hev  ara 
soul.  Who  ever  seed  a  soul  in  jis'  sich  a  rack  heap 
ove  bones  an'  rags  es  this  ?  I's  nufnn  but  sum  new- 
fangil'd  sort  ove  beas',  a  sorter  cross  atween  a  crazy 
ole  monkey  an'  a  durn'd  wore-out  hominy-mill.  I  is 
one  ove  dad's  explites  at  ma  kin  cussed  fool  inven- 
shuns,  an'  cum  afore  my  time.  I  blames  him  fur  all 
ove  hit,  allers  a-tryin  tu  be  king  fool.  He  hes  a  heap 
tu  count  fur,  George — a  heap. 


THE  SNAKE-BIT  IfcMMM* 


"  What  have  you  got  there,  Sut  ?" 

"  Nuffin  but  a  rattil-tail  suake  ;  he's  got  livin  rattils. 
I  kill'd  him  a-cumin  tu  camp  on  the  spur  thar.  He 
made  me  mind  what  happened  tu  a  durn'd  tater-eatin 
Irishman  las'  fall  in  these  yere  mountins,  an'  I  wanted 
tu  tell  hit  tu  yu.  So  I  fotch  him  along,  tu  keep  me 
frum  forgittin  hit.  Now  ef  I  wer  that  ar  durn'd  Paddy, 
yu  mout  jis'  bet  that  hoss  ove  yur'n,  I  wudent  hev  tu 
tote  a  snake  tu  keep  that  ar  scrape  in  mind.  He's  in 
Irishdum  now  ef  he  kep  his  oath,  whar  thar's  no 
snakes,  an'  yet  I'll  swar  he  dreams  ove  em  an'  prays 
agin  em  ove  nights,  an's  watchin  fur  em  an'  a-cussin  ove 
em  ove  days,  an'  will  keep  up  that  habit  till  the  devil 
sends  a  supener  fur  him,  even  ef  the  ole  feller  waits 
seventy-five  years  fust. 

"  If  yu  cud  see  that  shovel-totin,  pipe-smokin,  raskil's 

*  This  etory  was  originally  prepared  for,  and  published  in  the 
New  York  Spirit  of  the  Times,  when  that  splendid  paper  was  under 
the  control  of  the  lamented  William  T.  Porter.  Having  lost  the 
original  draft,  it  has  been  re-written  from  memory  and  adapted  to 
the  genius  of  "Sut." 


THE  SNAKE-BIT  IRISHMAN.  109 

gizzard,  yu'd  fine  the  picter  ove  a  big  snake  branded 
intu  hit  es  deep  es  we  brands  muels. 

"  Sum  three  ur  four  clever  fellers  frum  Knoxville 
fix'd  tharselves  up  fur  a  camp  hunt  ove  a  cupple  ove 
weeks  out  yere,  an'  they  met  up  wif  me,  an'  pinted  out 
two  kaigs  tied  across  a  muel's  back,  an'  told  me  tu 
smell  at  the  bunghole.  I  follered  em  wifout  ara  halter. 
"We  camp't  jist  tuther  side  that  high  pint  yu  see  yan- 
der,  an  wer  gittin  on  fust  rate,  killin  lots  ove  deer  an' 
sich  like,  when  wun  nite  here  cum  that  cussed  Irish- 
man, wif  a  bundil  ontu  the  aind  ove  a  stick,  an'  jis' 
tuck  up  boardin  wif  us,  never  so  much  es  even  lookin 
tu  see  ef  he  wer  welcum.  He  et,  an'  drunk,  an'  slep't 
thar,  es  cumfortabil  es  ef  he  own'd  this  country,  an'  wer 
the  sassyest,  meddelsumest,  mos'  imperdint  son  ove  a 
diggin-mersheen  I  ever  seed,  allers  'sceptin  a  young 
suckit  rider,  ur  a  duck-laig'd  Jew.  Sez  Jedge  Alexan- 
der tu  me : 

"  'Sut,  ef  yu'll  manage  tu  run  that  raskil  off  frum 
yere  I'll  gin  ye  a  par  ove  boots.' 

"  Sez  I,  jumpin  tu  my  feet,  '  I'll  du  hit,  durn'd  ef  I 
don't!  jis'  wait  till  nite.' 

"  '  Now,'  sez  the  kind-hearted  Jedge,  Sut,  yu  must- 
n't hurt  the  poor  feller,  mine  that;  but  I  want  him 
skared  away  frum  this  camp.' 

"  Sez  I,  '  All  the  hurtin  he'll  git  will  cum  frum  skeer. 
i"  won't  hurt  him,  but  I  specks  the  skeer  may  du  hit ; 
my  sperience  (an'  hits  sum  on  the  nater  an'  workin  ove 


110  THE  SNAKE-BIT  IRISHMAN. 

skeers)  is,  Jedge,  that  the  hurtin  cumin  outen  a  big 
ripe  skeer,  jis'  can't  be  beat  on  top  ove  this  yeath,  eny- 
how.  Hoss- whips,  yaller  jackits,  an'  fire,  haint  no- 
whar.  Yu  wants  him  skeer'd  clean  away  frum  thia 
camp.  Now  s'pose  I  happens  tu  put  in  a  leetle  too 
much  powder,  an'  skeer  him  plum  outen  the  United 
States — what  then?' 

"  Sed  he,  larfin,  '  I  won't  indite  yu ;  jis'  go  ahead. 
Sut.' 

"  I  fix'd  things. 

"Well,  nite  cum,  an'  arter  we  hed  lay  down,  Irish 
stole  hissef  anuther  suck  outen  the  barlm  ove  life  kaig, 
an'  cum  an'  jis'  rooted  his  way  in  atween  me  an'  Jim, 
an'  fix'd  hissef  fur  a  big  sleep,  went  at  hit  imejuntly, 
an'  sot  up  a  systim  ove  the  infunelest  snorin  yu  ever 
hearn ;  hit  wer  the  dolefulest,  skeeriest  soun  ever  blown 
outen  a  human  nose.  The  cussed  allfired  ole  poshole 
digger  snored  in  Irish  ! 

"  Now  I  hed  cut  off  ni  ontu  about  nine  foot  ove  gut, 
frum  the  offal  ove  a  big  buck  what  wer  kill'd  that  day, 
an'  I  tied  the  ainds  wif  twine,  tu  keep  in  the  truck  what 
wer  intu  hit,  an'  sunk  hit  in  the  krick,  so  es  tu  hev  hit 
good  cold.  I  ris  up  rite  keerful,  put  on  the  Jedge's 
spurs,  got  me  a  long  black-thorn,  an'  greazed  hit  wif 
hog's  fat  outen  the  skillet.  I  fotch  the  gut  up  frum  the 
krick,  an'  wer  ready  tu  begin  the  sponsibil  work  I  hed 
on  han.  The  tater-eater  hed  a  hole  inter  the  sittin 
down  part  ove  his  britches,  an'  his  shut  tail  hed  cum 


THE   SNAKE-BIT   IRISHMAN.  Ill 

oaten  hit  tu  git  sum  fresh  ar.  I  tied  wun  aind  ove  thai 
orful  gut  tite  an'  fas'  tu  the  ole  coarse  shut-tail,  arj' 
quiled  up  the  gut  nice  an'  snake-like,  clost  tu  him  es 
he  lay.  I  lay'd  down  agin,  an'  reached  down  my  han 
wif  the  black-thorn  in  hit  till  I  got  in  stickin  distunce 
ove  his  starn.  I  felt  fur  a  saft  place,  an'  jis'  socked  in 
the  thorn  about  a  inch,  four  ur  five  times,  'bout  es  fas' 
es  a  ho'net  ken  sting  when  he  hesn't  much  time  tu 
spar,  an'  a  big  job  ove  stingin  tu  du  sumwhar  else. 
Every  time  I  socked  in  that  thorn,  I  raked  him  up  an' 
down  the  shins  wif  them  Mexican  spurs.  I  hearn  them 
rattilin  ontu  his  shin-bones  like  buckshot  in  a  bottil, 
an'  I  wer  a-hollerin — yu  cud  hearn  me  a  mile — '  snake  ! 
snake  !  big  snake  !  oh,  lordy !  oh,  lordee  !  a  big  copper- 
headed  black  rattil-snake  is  crawlin  up  my  britches,  up 
bof  laigs,  an'  is  a-tyin  hissef  intu  a  double  bow-knot 
roun  my  body.     Help  !     Lordee,  oh  !' 

"  The  rest  on  'em  hed  the  hint,  an'  all  wer  shoutin 
'  Snake  !  snake  !  big  snake  !'  es  I  did.  ISTow  hits  not 
onreasonabil  tu  tell  that  this  hurtin  an'  noise  woke 
Paddy  purty  eshenshully  all  over,  an'  all  et  onst  tu. 

"  He  slaped  down  his  hans  each  side  ove  hissef  tu 
help  'im  tu  rise,  an'  laid  one  ove  'em  fiat  ontu  the  nice 
cold  quile  ove  gut.  He  went  ofen  that  pallet  an'  outen 
that  camp  jis'  like  a  sparrer-hawk  starts  tu  fly  frum  the 
soun  ove  a  shot-gun,  an'  he  lit  twenty  foot  out  in  the 
dark,  a-straitnin  out  that  gut  ontil  the  string  on  the  hin- 
mos'  aind  snapped  like   ontu  a  'cussion   cap.     Es   he 


112  THE  SNAKE-BIT  IBISHMAN. 

went,  his  words  wer — '  Howly  mither  ove  Jayzus !'  an1 
he  sot  inter  runnin  in  a  sirkil  ove  about  fifty  yards 
thru  the  brush,  roun  an'  aroun  the  camp,  a-makin  meny 
surjestshuns,  an  prayers,  an'  uther  dierbolical  souns. 
'  Shute  the  long  divil !  Shute  all  ove  yees,  but  don't 
aim  et  his  head !  Och  Shint  Patherick !  oh,  Howly 
Vargin  !  Can't  nun  ove  yees  ketch  'im  ?  Stop  him ! 
Och  howly  wather !  how  swate  he's  a-bitin  !  I  tell  yees 
he's  got  me  by  me  bottum,  an'  he's  a-mendin  his  hoult ! 
Praist,  praist,  pope,  praist!  Howly  wather!  praist, 
och,  och !  Fitch  me  a  cross — a  big  cross !  bring  me 
me  bades,  me  bades !  The  divil's  own  son  is  a-aitin  in 
strait  fur  me  kednays.' 

"  In  one  ove  his  sarkits,  he  run  thru  the  embers  ove 
the  camp-fire,  an'  the  string  at  the  aind  ove  the  gut  hed 
kotch,  an'  wer  a-burnin  like  a  slow  match.  Paddy  hed 
ventered  tu  peep  over  his  shoulder,  an'  seed  hit  a-bob- 
bin  about  arter  him ;  he  got  a  bran  new  idear  onder 
his  har.  '  Och !  Howly  Jayzus !  he'll  ait  now  as  he 
plazes ;  he's  a-totin  a  lite  tu  see  how  tu  bite  by.' 

"  The  very  thought  ove  hit  made  him  ni  ontu  dubbil 
his  speed.  He  tore  thru  that  brush  thicket  like  a  bull 
wif  honey-bees  arter  him,  an'  made  more  nise  than  a 
hoss  a-doin  the  same  work  at  the  same  speed,  an'  onder  a 
like  skeer.  I  wer  up  ontu  a  stump,  a-hollerin  '  Snake  1 
snake !  snake  !'  es  regular  es  a  steamboat  snorts,  an'  in 
a  orful  voice,  like  I  hed  a  Jew's-harp  in  my  froat 

"  Arter  he'd  run  ni  ontu  a  mile  in  that  sirkil,  an'  hed 


THE   SNAKE-BIT  IRISHMAN.  113 

broke  a  good  sweat,  an'  when  his  back  wer  to'ards  the 
camp,  I  bellered  out : 

"  '  Fling  away  yer  spade ;  hit  makes  agin  yu,' 

"  I  wish  I  may  be  dodrabbited  ef  he  didn't  go  thru 
the  moshuns  ove  flingin  a  spade  back'ards  over  his 
head.  He  thought  he  hed  his  spade,  sure  ea  yu  ar 
born'd.  See  what  a  skeer  kin  du  in  mixin  up  the 
idears  ove  a  critter  what  sorter  leans  to'ards  bein  a  dam 
fool,  enyhow.  Then  I  hollered,  '  Go  in  a  strait  line  an' 
out-run  yer  snake,  yu  infunelly  durn'd  fool !'  Tnat 
idear  happened  tu  go  strait  tu  his  brains  afore  hit  tan- 
gled, an'  Pat  tuck  me  at  my  word,  an'  wer  outen  site 
in  the  shake  ove  a  lamb's  tail.     In  about  a  half  minit, 

way  over  ontu  the  nex  ridge,  I  hearn  '  Howly  Jay  ' 

an'  hit  wer  so  far  off  I  cudent  hear  the  aind  ove  the 
word. 

"  Nex  day  he  wer  makin  a  bee  line  thru  town,  to'ards 
the  East,  in  a  stiff,  short,  dorg-trot,  an'  lookin  like  he'd 
been  thru  a  smut-mersheen.     A  feller  hail'd  'im : 

"  '  Hollo,  Pat,  which  way !' 

"  He  looked  slowly  roun  wifout  stoppin,  wif  a  hang- 
dorg  sorter  face,  an'  a-feelin  a-hine  him  wif  one  han, 
he  growl'd  out  a  word  fur  every  step  he  tuck — 

"  '  Strate  tu  swate  Ireland,  wher  ther's  no  snakes.' 

"  An  dam  ef  I  don't  b'leve  he  kep  his  word.  I  got 
two  par  ove  boots,  an'  ole  tangle-foot  whisky  enui  tu 
fill  'em." 


EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE  OF  FREE- 
MASONS. 


"Sut,  when  you  were  telling  the  razor-grinder's 
story,  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  that  Lum  Jones 
hid  out  from  the  mason's?" 

"Now  durn  your  littil  sancterfied  face,  yu  knows 
mity  well  why  he  hid  out.  Yu  an'  Lum  wer  the  fellers 
what  did  hit,  an'  this  crowd  orter  make  yu  tell  ur  treat. 
I  think  yu  orter  du  bof." 

"  The  crowd  "  insisted  on  the  story,  so  I  commenced 
in  my  way  to  tell  it  somewhat  thus : 

"  Those  who  remember  Knoxville  thirty -five  years 
ago,  must  still  almost  see  'the  old  stone  Court-house,' 
with  its  steep  gable  front  to  the  street ;  its  dispropor- 
tionately small  brick  chimney,  roosting  on  the  roof  at 
the  rear;  its  well-whittled  door-jambs,  its  dusty  win- 
dows, its  gloomy  walls  and  ghostly  echoes.  Then  its 
history,  crime  unveiled,  the  ingenious  defence,  the  pow- 
erful prosecution,  the  eloquent  'charge,'  the  tears  of 
sorrow,  the  flashes  of  wit ;  but  like  the  sturdy  old 
Court-house  itself,  they  belong  to  the  past.  But  even 
now,  and  here  in  the  thickening  twilight,  I  see  gliding 


EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE   OF  FREE-MASONS.       115 

past  in  misty  ranks,  the  forms  of  Jackson,  Hn  Lawson 
White,  the  Williamses,  the  Dunlaps,  Haywood,  Peck, 
Powell,  McKinny,  Pleasant  Miller,  the  Andersons,  Car- 
rick  "White  and  Mynott  Scott.  In  my  boyish  eyes  they 
seemed  giants,  and  manhood's  more  discriminating  gaze 
sees  them  undiminished.  The  quiet  grave  has  long 
ago  claimed  the  last  of  the  band,  but  memory  pre- 
serves their  fame,  and  deeds  of  well-doing.  There  too, 
is  '  College  Hill,'  with  its  clear  cool  spring  at  the  foot. 
The  '  Bluff,'  with  its  triple  echo,  the  '  Flag  Pond,'  and 
its  sunny-sided  inhabitants,  '  Old  Aunt  Edy's  cakes  and 
beer,  the  white  mill  and  its  dripping  dam,  Scuffietown 
Crick,  and  its  walnut-trees,  '  the  Dardis  lot,  and  its  for- 
bidden grapes,'  '  Witt's  old  field,  and  its  forbidden  black- 
berries,' the  'old  church,'  and  its  graveyard.  'Tis 
strange  how  faithfully  memory  paints  the  paths  and 
places  belonging  to  our  boyhood — happy,  ragged, 
thoughtless  boyhood.  The  march  of  improvement  first, 
then  the  march  and  crash  of  armies,  have  nearly  swept 
away  those,  to  me,  almost  sacred  places.  But  they  and 
those  who  'were  boys  then,'  still  have  a  place  in  mem- 
ory that  time  nor  distance  can  take,  nor  the  pressing, 
crowding,  bloody  events  of  now  dim,  nor  sorrow  obliter- 
ate with  its  tears  " 

"Oh,  komplikated  dumashun!  that  haint  hit,"  said 
Sut.  "  Yu's  drunk,  ur  yure  sham'd  tu  tell  hit,  an'  so 
yu  tries  tu  put  us  all  asleep  wif  a  mess  ove  durn'd 
uonsince,  'bout  echo's,  m   grapes,  an'  warnit  trees ;  oh, 


116       EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE  OF  FREE-MASONS. 

yu  be  durn'd  !  Boys,  jis'  gin  me  a  hoult  ove  that  ai 
wilier  baskit,  wif  a  cob  in  bits  mouf,  an'  tbat  ar  tin  cup, 
an'  arter  I'se  spunged  my  froat,  I'll  talk  bit  all  off  in 
English,  an'  yu.  jis'  watch  an'  see  ef  I  say  '  echo,'  Ml 
'grapes,'  ur  'graveyard  '  onst." 

So  Sut  told  it  his  way. 

"  Ahem !  I  takes  fur  my  tex,  the  fac'  that  eaves- 
drappin  am  a  durn'd  mean  sorter  way  tu  make  a  livin. 
Hits  es  bad  es  stealin  frum  blind  folks,  ur  tellin  lies  on 
widders ;  an'  hit  hes  hits  retribushun,  a  orful  wun,  an' 
yu'd  all  (not  scept  George  thar)  say  so  when  I'se  dun. 

"  The  upstars  ove  that  Court-hous'  wer  one  big  rume, 
plastered  over-head  wif  three  quarter  plank,  an'  no 
floor  ontu  the  jists  in  the  loft  abuv.  The  masons  hed 
fenced  off  a  lodge  in  wun  corner.  The  trap-door  intu 
the  lof,  wer  jis'  outside  hit,  an'  a  ladder  cum  down 
clost  by  hits  side,  an'  landed  jis'  a  littil  short  ove  the 
door  intu  the  lodge.  So  yu  got  tu  the  lof  frum  what 
wer  lef  ove  the  big  rume,  an'  jis'  outside  the  mason  den. 

"Well,  Lum  an'  George,  thar,  wer  pow'fully  ex- 
ercised 'bout  hit — wanted  tu  know  the  secret  pow'ful 
bad — hit  pester'd  'em  ni  ontu  es  bad  es  the  eatch.  So 
they  conkluded  arter  much  fastin  an'  prayin,  in  thar 
way,  that  they'd  evedrop  'em. 

"  Now  they  wer  about,  say  thuteen  years  ole,  an'  jis* 
two  ove  the  durndest  littil  back-slidin  devils  outen  jail. 
Warn't  much  alike  either.  Lum,  allers  a/ore  he  did  emf 
4evilmint,  studied  out  keerfully  what  wput  happen  ef 


EAVES-DKOPPING  A   LODGE   OF  FEEE-MASONS.         117 

he  did  hit.  George  studied  too,  but  hit  wer  allers  arter 
the  deed  wer  dun,  an'  the  orful  consekences  clost  arter 
him. 

"  Well,  wun  day  'bout  sundown,  they  crawl'd  up  on- 
benowen  tu  enybody  inter  the  lof,  an'  clar  tu  the 
tuther  aind  furthest  frum  the  lodge  room,  an'  trap-door, 
an'  lay  pow'ful  low,  waitin  fur  night  an'  the  masons. 
Lots  ove  pidgeons  cum  in  tu  roost,  an'  as  hit  got  dark, 
their  '  boo  coo  ah !  coo-ooin !  sorter  made  the  littil 
devils  think  ove  thar  trundil  beds  and  the  light  at 
home.  In  fac'  a  big  onmitigated  skeer  wer  a-settilin 
like  ontu  a  fog  all  over  'em,  an'  onder  thar  shuts  at 
that ;  but  they  didn't  own  hit  tu  each  uther  yet  a- while. 
Well,  arter  hit  got  good  dark  outside,  hit  wer  es  black 
inter  that  durn'd  ole  hanted  loft,  es  hit  wud  be  tu  a 
bline  flea  on  a  black  catskin,  onder  the  fur,  an'  hit  on- 
der forty  bushil  ove  wet  charcoal  dust. 

"  The  ole  Socks  ove  the  cumpus  an'  squar  persuashun 
begun  tu  gether  in,  an'  sartin  nises  cummenced  tu  soak 
up  thru  the  ceilin — sich  nises  !  oh,  lordy  ! — groanin 
nises,  chokin  nises,  crunchin  nises,  ugly  nises,  orful  nises 
mix'd  wif  sum  discumfurtin  souns,  not  much  loud,  but 
dredful  plain,  an'  sure  skeer-gitters,  the  las'  one  eve  em. 
"  Torrectly  they  hearn  sumthin  like  twenty  foot  ove 
trace  chain  drap,  aind  fust  on  the  floor,  cherrash ! 
Their  skeer  now  broke  out  good  all  over  em  in 
splotches  es  big  es  a  craddil  quilt,  an'  git  outen  this  loft 
wer  the  only  idear  lef  in  thar  head,     '  Let's  go  home/ 


118        EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE  OF  FREE-MASONS. 

sed  wun  ;  '  Oh,  lordy  yas !'  sed  tuther ;  an'  they  started 
fur  the  trap-door,  a-steppin  frum  jise  tu  jise,  quiet  an' 
quick  es  cats. 

"  The  ole  ruff  wer  leakin  fur  a  long  time,  an'  the 
drip  hed  rotted  the  ceilin  about  in  spots,  an'  wun  ove 
these  spots  wer  rite  plum  over  the  middil  ove  the 
lodge ;  when  they  got  thar,  Lum  he  happen'd  tu  step 
jis'  a  littil  too  short,  an'  he  lit  ontu  the  doated  ceilin 
insted  ove  the  jise.  Did  yu  ever  hear  a  cart-load  ove 
brickbats  dumpt'd  ontu  a  pile  ove  clapboards  frum  the 
top  ove  a  high  bank  ?  Ef  yu  did,  yu  then  hearn  sum- 
thin  ni  ontu  the  soun  he  made  gwine  thru  that  ceilin. 
Hit  jis'  rain'd  rotten  wood,  nails,  mud-daubers'  nests, 
chips,  spiders,  an'  thar  webs,  black  bugs,  was'  nests,  an' 
ole  dust  all  over  that  lodge  ove  barheaded  masons. 

"  Now  they  keeps  thar  secrets  pow'ful  well,  fur  most 
on  'em  tu  be  married  men,  yet  hit  sorter  leak'd 
out  that  they  unanamusly  an'  individully  thort  that 
hit  wer  the  anti-masons,  ole  Morgin,  ur  the  devil, 
a-cumin  down  ontu  'em  frum  way  abuve  the  roof,  an' 
a-bringin  wif  'em  all  the  trash  frum  Kenneday's  saw- 
mill. They  huddled  tugether  intu  wun  corner,  an' 
star'd  up  et  the  forkid  fernomonon,  what  wer  a-hangin 
in  the  hole,  fur  Lum  hed  cotch  wif  his  arms  over  the 
two  nighes'  jise,  an'  wer  a-reachm  an'  a-feelin  all  roun 
in  the  air,  es  far  es  he  cud,  wif  his  laigs  spred  out  like  a 
par  ove  cooper's  cumpuses,  fur  sumthin  tangerbil,  sum- 
thin  like  ontu  a  foot-holt,  ur  sick, 


EAVES— DEOPPING  A  LODGE  OF  FEEE-MASOXS. 


"They  huddled  together  into  wun  corner,  an'  star'd  up  et  the  forkid  femotnenon,  wot 
wor  a-hongin'  in  the  hoi*."  Page  118, 


EATES-DROPPING  A  LODGE   OF  FREE-MASONS.         119 

"  Great  Beltashashur  !  [and  Sut  stretched  his  legs  to 
their  utmost  extent,  knocking  his  feet  together,  and 
affectionately  surveying  them  from  hip  to  toe,]  spose 
this  yere  par  ove  litnin-rods  hed  been  hung  thru  that 
hole,  an'  es  big  a  skeer  at  the  top  ove  em  es  wer  a-restin 
on  Lum !  Why,  I'll  jis'  be  durn'd  rite  yere  afore  I  kin 
swaller  this  ho'n,  ef  I  hadn't  a  swept  the  las'  cockroach 
outen  the  corners  ove  that  room,  broke  all  the  winders, 
haf  the  masons'  necks,  put  out  the  candils,  disparsed  the 
jewils,  los'  the  mallits  an'  call'd  that  ar  lodge  frum 
labor  tu  refreshmint  furever  more.  I'd  a-made  em 
reach  everywhar,  afore  a  quick-spoken  'oman  cud  say 
'kiss,'  wudnH  I? 

"  Well,  es  it  wer,  Lum's  fat  latter  aind  looked  like 
ontu  a  yearlin's  paunch  a-swingin  about,  what  hed  died 
pow'ful  full  ove  grass  an'  wheat  bran.  His  britches 
wer  draw'd  so  tite  that  the  hems  ove  em  wer  six  inches 
abuv  his  knees.  His  short  socks  an'  low-quarter'd 
shoes  made  his  red  laigs  look  like  two  bedpostes  sock'd 
intu  the  pipe  hole  ove  a  par  ove  cookin-stoves,  an'  a 
skeer'd  divil  intu  the  oven  ove  each  stove,  they  husteled 
roun  so  fas'. 

"  Ole  Stack  seed  the  true  nater  ove  the  fernomonon 
afore  eny  ove  the  res'  ove  em.  So  he  snatched  a  long 
strip  ove  the  broken  ceilin  plank,  es  broad  es  a  canew 
paddil  at  wur  aind,  in  bof  hans,  an'  jis  busted  hit  intu 
seventeen  an'  a  'alf  pieces  at  wun  swollopin  lick  ontu 
the  part  ove  Lum,  what  fits  a  saddil.     Hit  crack'd  sor 


120        EAVES-DBOPPING  A  LODGE   OP  FEEE-MASONS. 

ter  like  a  muskit  a-bustin,  an'  the  tetchin  sensashun 
shot  Lum  up  thru  the  hole  like  a  rocket." 

Here  Sut  raised  himself  slightly  from  the  log  on 
which  he  was  sitting,  by  the  aid  of  his  hands  each  side, 
and  rubbing  himself  sidewise  quickly,  a  few  times  on 
rough  bark,  said,  with  an  air  of  startled  surprise,  "Boys, 
I'm  durn'd  ef  I  can't  feel  Lum's  sensashun  frum  that 
orful  lick  rite  now  /"  and  he  rubbed  himself  again. 

"  Well,  him  an'  George  bulged  down  that  ar  ladder 
like  rats  wif  a  tarrier  clost  tu  thar  tails,  an'  at  the  foot  ove 
hit  they  met  a  sight — oh,  sweet  Jinny !  how  glad  I  is  I 
warn't  thar !  Thar  sot  a  littil  tabil  wif  a  lit  candil  onxu 
hit,  an'  thar  stood,  bolt  up  on  aind,  a  grim,  grey -haired 
man,  wif  a  glitterin  drawn  swoard  in  his  han,  es  big  an' 
as  long  es  a  mowin  blade  ;  ontu  his  breas'  wer  a  par  ove 
littil  silver  crooked  bowie-knives  cross'd,  an'  he  wore  a 
aprun  like  he  wer  gwine  tu  butcher  ur  cook  supper. 
They  look'd  at  this,  jis'  'bout  es  long  es  a  weazel  looks 
at  a  cumin  rock,  an'  they  went  a-scizzin  pas',  George 
hinmos'. 

"The  ole  man  made  a  wicked  cirklin  lick  at  him  wif 
his  orful  nakid  wepun.  '  Voop,'  hit  went,  an'  cut  the 
flat  crown  outen  his  cap,  smoof  es  yu  cud  onkiver  a 
huckleberry  pie  wif  a  case-knife." 

"That  part's  not  true,  Mr.  Sut,"  said  I. 

"  Yes  hit  am,  fur  yu  see  he  dun  hit  so  slick  that  the 
crown  whirl'd  roun  like  a  tin  plate  in  the  ar,  six  foot 
abuv  yer  hed,  went  faster  nui  yu  did,  an'  lit  afore  yu, 


EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE   OF  FREE-MASONS.        121 

es  yu  flew  down  stars  fas'  es  yu  wer  gwine.  Oh,  littil 
hoss,  he  did  du  hit,  an  'ef  he'd  lower'd  his  sites  jis'  a 
scrimpshun  he'd  a- saved  a  pow'ful  site  ove  meat  an' 
bread  frum  befn  wasted,  an'  cnrius  pepil  wud  a-been 
now  a-readin  ove  yur  vartu's  frum  a  lyin  stone  news- 
paper stuck  in  the  yeath  ove  the  graveyard  yu  wer 
a-blatherin  about  jis'  now. 

"  An  I  haint  told  all,  fur  in  yer  skeer  a-gwine  away 
frum  that  orful  place,  yu  run  over  the  spot  whar  a 
fancy  hous'  'bout  five  foot  squar  hed  been  upsot, 
slunged  in  up  tu  yur  eyebrows,  amungst  the  slush  in  the 
hole,  broke  fur  the  krick,  lunged  in,  onbuttoned  yer  shut 
collar,  dove  plum  thru  that  ar  crownless  cap — hit  cum 
oicn  yer  heels  like  a  hoop — swum  outen  yer  clothes, 
an'  jis'  let  every  durn'd  rag  float  away,  an'  then  went 
home  es  nakid  es  a  well-scraped  hog,  but  not  half  es 
clean.  The  pepil  what  yu  passed  on  yer  way  tu  the 
krick  tho't  yu  wer  the  cholery  a-cumin,  an'  burn't  tar 
in  thar  yards  an'  stuff'd  ole  rags  onder  thar  doors,  an' 
intu  the  keyholes ;  an'  es  yu  sneaked  back  nakid  frum 
the  krick,  they  tho't  yu  wer  the  ghost  ove  a  skin'd  bull- 
frog, ur  a  forewarnin  ove  cumin  famin. 

"  Yu  see  hit  wer  Lum  what  foun  the  saft  soap  mine 
an'  went  tu  the  krick  tu  see  what  ©orter  suds  hit  wud 
make.  Now  jis'  let  enybody  ax  Lum  an'  see  ef  he 
don't  say  hit  wer  yu,  afore  they'se  dun  axin  him,  an' 
offer  tu  prove  hit  by  Frank  Dudley — try  hit. 

"Lum  narrates  hit  that  the  masons'  secret  konsista 


122       EAVES-DROPPING  A  LODGE  OF  FREE-MASONS. 

in  a  piece  ove  dry  plank  wif  a  strong,  willin  man  at 
wun  aind,  an'  about  thuty  pounds  ove  live,  tender, 
thin-skin'd  meat  ni  ontu  tuther ;  while  yu  sez  hit  am 
nuthin  but  a  hole  in  the  groun,  what  orter  be  kivered 
up  ove  nights ;  yu  bof  orter  know. 

"  Now  I  hes  jis'  wun  remark  tu  make  afore  I  drinks, 
an'  hit  am  this :  neither  ove  em  hes  ever  tried  tu  watch 
eny thing  in  the  dark  since,  an'  jis'  let  wun  ove  em, 
even  tu  this  night,  see  a  cumpus  ur  a  squar,  ef  hits 
even  a-lyin  ontu  a  carpenter's  bainch,  an'  I'm  durn'd  ef 
they  don't  hist  thar  noses  an'  take  a  sniff  ove  the  air 
all  roun  wif  thar  bristils  sot.  They  s'pishions  danger. 
I  don't  blame  em,  du  yu  ?  Thar's  no  muny  nur  credit 
either,  in  evedroppin ;  they'se  bof  sot  agin  hit,  an'  they 
haint  fear'd  tu  say  so." 


TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 


"  Daddy  kill'd  the  blind  bull, 

Human  nater,  human  nater ! 
"  Mammy  fried  a  pan  full, 

Sop  an'  tater,  sop  an'  tater." 

"  Stop  that  noise  Sut,  I  can't  sleep." 

"Nize?  "Well,  I  be  durn'd  !  Calls  superfine  singin 
ove  a  hart-breakin  luv  song,  what's  purtier  bj  a  gallun 
an'  a  'alf,  than  that  cussed  fool  thing  yu  wer  a-readin,  jis 
arter  supper  'bout  the  youf  what  toted  a  flag  up  a  moun- 
tin  by  hissef  ove  a  nite,  wif  '  Exelcider '  writ  ontu  hit, 
nize!  Why,  I  speck  yu'd  call  the  singin  ove  the 
cherrybeans,  howlin.      Yu  be  durn'd." 

"  That  was  no  love  song,  you  jackass,  that  you  were 
bawling  just  now." 

"  The  devil  hit  warn't !  I  hedn't  got  tu  the  luv 
part  Eatin  allers  goes  jis'  afore  luv.  'Less  a  feller 
hes  his  belly  stretched  wif  vittils,  he  can't  luv  tu  much 
pupus,  that's  so.  Yittils,  whisky,  an'  the  spring  ove  , 
the  year,  is  what  makes  luv ;  an'  yu  jis'  bring  em  all  tu 
bar  tugether,    an'   yu'll   see   luv   tu   sum   pupus,  Tm 


124  TAURUS  m  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 

durn'd  if  yu  don't.  Did  yu  ever  try  hit,  wif  a  purty 
gal  sot  on  steel  springs  wif  injun  rubber  heels,  an 
cinamint  ile  smell  tu  help  yu  ?" 

"No;  shut  up!" 

"  Oh,  yas,  hit  am  onplesant  tu  yu,  es  the  ole  maid 
sed  when  a  gal  kiss'd  her ;  hits  sorter  like  smellin  ole 
Burbon  thru  a  jail  winder — aint  jist  the  thing. 

"  Now  yu's  a  cussin  at  my  luv  song,  I  wants  tu  say  a 
word  about  that  '  Excelcider '  youf  ove  your'n,  what 
sum  Longfeller  writ.  /  say,  an'  I'll  swar  tu  hit,  that 
eny  feller,  I  don't  keer  hu  the  devil  he  is,  what  starts 
up  a  mountin,  kiver'd  wif  snow  an'  ise,  arter  sundown, 
wif  nuffin  but  a  flag,  an'  no  whisky,  arter  a  purty  gal 
hed  offer'd  her  bussum  fur  a  pillar,  in  a  rume  wif  a  big 
hath,  kiver'd  wif  hot  coals,  an'  vittils,  [here  Sut  rose 
to  his  tip-toes,  and  elevated  his  clenched  fists  high 
above  his  head,]  am  a  dod  durn'd,  complikated,  full- 
blooded,  plum  nat'ral  born  durn'd  fool ;  he  warn'i. 
smart  enuf  tu  fine  his  mouf  wifout  a  leadin  string ;  he 
orter  froze  es  stiff  es  a  crow-bar,  an'  then  been  thaw'd 
out  by  the  devil ;  dod  durn  him !  An'  there's  Lum 
Jack  yu  tole  about,  darin  the  litenin." 

"  Ajax,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

"Yas,  ove  cours;  didn't  I  say  so?  An'  he  wer  a 
jack,  ove  the  longes'  year'd  kine,  fus',  because  eny  fool 
moat  know  the  litenin  wudn't  mine  him  no  more  nur  a 
locomotum  wud  mine  a  tumble-bug.  An'  then,  spose 
hit  hed   met  him  dar,  why  durn  me  ef  thar'd  been  a 


TAURUS   IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET.  125 

scrimshun  ove  'im  lef  big  enuf  tu  bait  a  rninner  hook 
wif. 

"  Now  I  sets  him  down  es  wun  ove  the  fore-daddys 
ove  the  Lovingoods,  sure.  Our  famerly  am  an'  ole 
wun.  Dad  used  tu  trace  hit  back  tu  Joseph  in  Yegipt, 
an'  he  sed  hit  wer  pufeckly  useless  tu  hunt  furder  fur 
better  fool  blood.  I'se  furgot  what  that  feller's  name 
wer,  hu's  wife  got  his  coat !  Hits  no  odds,  he  wer  no 
count,  nohow.  I  sorter  sumtimes  thinks  he  mout  been 
the  fust  ove  the  unicks — poor  'oman ! 

"Singin  that  song  'bout  the  bline  bull,  minds  me 
ove  what  happen' d  tu  me  at  Lynchburg,  in  ole  Firginny. 
Hits  a  town  chock  full  ove  clever  fellers,  an'  jis'  es  few 
nat'ral  born  durn'd  fools  as  ever  yu  seed  in  any  town. 
A  ole  Dutchman  bilt  hit,  an'  sot  hit  up  on  hits  aidge 
tu  dry.  The  Injuns  chased  him  clean  away,  an'  the 
town  stans  on  hits  aidge  tu  this  day.  Sumtimes  the 
boys  gits  ontu  a  '  tare '  ove  nites,  an'  tries  tu  upset  hit 
ontu  hits  side,  but  haint  never  got  hit  turn'd  down 
yet. 

"A  drovyer  tuck  sum  hogs  thar  wunst  frum  Ten- 
nessee, an'  I  foller'd  his  dorg  the  hole  way.  When  I 
got  thar,  I  wer  mon'sous  shy  an'  keerful,  fur  thar  aint 
much  good  groun  bout  thar  tu  run  on,  ef  a  feller  hap- 
pen'd  tu  take  a  runnin  skeer. 

"  Wun  mornin  I  wer  standin  ni  ontu  the  top  ove  the 
hill,  lookin  roun  stonish'd  till  I  wer  benum'd  all  over 
at  the  sites.     I  seed,  rite  in  the  middil  ove  the  street,  a 


126  TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 

hous'  what  mout  been  bilt  fur  a  depot  when  railroads 
wer  jis'  a-tasselin ;  they  warn't  es  far  on  es  roasin-ear 
time  nohow,  an'  they  foun  hit  too  small  at  that;  an' 
hit  sorter  look't  like  wimen  hed  lived  thar,  an'  the  boys 
hed  stove  in  the  sides  an'  ainds  wif  rocks,  jis'  leavin 
the  corners  tu  hole  up  the  ruff.  I  larnt  frum  a  nigger, 
that  hit  wer  a  market  hous,  whar  they  sells  oncook'd 
vittils  ove  every  kine,  frum  a  rabbit  tu  a  cow's  laig,  an 
gardin  truck  tu  kill.     Hit  wer  plum  fall. 

"  I  wer  wonderin  my  levil  bes',  keepin  a  skin'd  eye 
an'  a  open  year  fur  trubbil  ur  a  skeer,  when  I  hearn  a 
tarin  big  fuss  on  tuther  side,  squawkin,  cussin,  hollerin, 
an'  a  gineral  soun  ove  things  a-smashin,  an'  seed  people 
a-mixin  tharsefs  pow'ful,  sorter  like  bees  a-fixin  tu 
swarm.  Thinks  I,  Look  out  Sut,  hit  am  cumin ;  hits 
mos'  time ;  yu  haint  hed  a  skeer  fur  ni  ontu  three  days 
— when  yere  cum  roun  the  corner  ove  the  market  house, 
jis'  a-tarin,  a  thuteen  hunder'  poun'  black  an'  white 
bull,  wif  his  tail  es  strait  up  in  the  air  es  a  telegraf 
pole,  an'  a  chesnut  fence  rail  tied  acrost  his  ho'ns  wif 
hickory  withs.  He  wer  a-totin  his  hed  low,  an'  every 
lick  he  made  at  eny  pusson  ur  thing,  he'd  blow  whoff, 
outen  his  snout.  He  wer  a  citizen  ove  Amherst  Coun- 
ty, an'  ove  the  Devonshear  persuashun,  an'  mout  a-hed 
good  standin  at  home  far  all  I  knows,  but  he  wer  actin 
like  a  durn'd  blackgard  in  Lynchburg,  an'  I  b'leves  he 
wer  one. 

"  I'se  sorter  fear'd  tu  try  tu  tell  yu,  George,  the  dev- 


TAURUS   IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET.  127 

ilment  that  cussed  infunel  fool  cow  beaste  wer  a-doin. 
He  wer  a-killin,  smashin,  ur  spilin  everything  he  toch 
wif  ho'ns,  huffs,  ur  fence  rail.  He  look'd  like  he  wer 
mad — 'suited  an'  plum  crazy,  an'  gittin  wus  fas'.  He'd 
say  whoff !  an'  a  hunder'  an'  sixty  poun'  nigger  wud 
fly  up  in  the  air  like  ontu  a  grasshopper,  an'  cum  back 
spread  like  a  frog.  Whoff!  an'  a  fat  she  nigger  wud 
dart  hanketcher  aind  fus'  thru  sumbody's  glass  win- 
der. Whoff !  agin,  an'  a  boy  wud  turn  ten  sumersets 
towards  the  river.  Whoff!  an'  a  Amherst  'oman  lil 
a-straddil  ove  a  ole  fat  feller's  neck,  wif  a  jolt  whal 
jumped  his  terbacker  outen  his  mou^  an'  scrunched 
Am,  while  she  went  on  down  hill  on  all  fours  in  a  fos 
trot.  Whoff!  an'  a  set  ove  hoops,  an'  a  par  ove  black 
stockins  wif  white  garters,  lit  atop  ove  a  kiver'd  wag 
gin  an'  slid  down  feet  fus'  on  tuther  side. 

"  A  littil  bal'-heded  man,  dress'd  in  gole  specks  an' 
a  gole-heded  walkin  stick,  wer  a-passin,  an'  duin  nuf- 
fin  tu  nobody ;  he  look'd  like  he  wer  a-cyferin  out  a 
sum  in  the  Qbrute,  in  his  hed.  Whoff !  an'  the  specks 
lit  on  the  ruff  ove  the  market  hous',  an'  the  stick,  gole 
aind  fus',  sot  in  a  milk  can  sixty  foot  off.  As  tu  ball 
head  hissef,  I  los'  site  ove  'im  while  the  specks  wer  in 
the  air ;  he  jis'  disappear'd  frum  mortul  vishun  sumhow, 
sorter  like  breff  frum  a  lookin-glass.  I  wunders  ef  he 
lef  a  widder.  Smack !  an'  the  sides  ove  a  milk  can 
cum  tugether,  an'  a  squt  ove  milk  shot  up,  an'  trickl'd 
ofen  the  house  eaves.     Crash  !  an'  a  baskit  went  way  up 


128  TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 

yander,  an'  then  hit  wud  rain  aigs,  an1  bats  ove  coltin, 
Amither  baskit  wud  start  up,  an'  torreckly  we'd  hev  a 
thunder  shower  ove  cherrys ;  the  bull  furnish'd  the 
thunder,  plenty  ove  hit 

I  "  The  air  wer  full  ove  things ;  stockins  wif  laigs  in 
em,  showin  tu  mos'  'vantage ;  hats  wif  heds  in  em 
wer  cumin  down  like  they  wer  hir'd  tu  ram  the  pa  .re- 
mint  that  way.  Truck  ove  all  kind  wer  flyin  ur  lyin 
about  jis  durn'd  permiscusly.  The  street  wer  white  wif 
milk  an'  aigshells ;  hit  wer  red  wif  cherrys ;  hit  wer 
black  wif  blackberrys,  an'  hit  wer  green  wif  gardin 
truck.  Cherrys  roll'd  down  hill  in  the  cracks  atween 
the  stones,  in  litil  rivers  ove  milk.  The  dead  chickens 
lay  whar  they  fell,  an'  the  live  ones  lit  on  the  ruffs. 
Oh !  gemeny  Jerusalem !  I  never  seed  sich  a  mixtry 
ove  oncook'd  vittils  in  all  my  born'd  days !  Blowin 
up  a  powder-hous',  while  a  harycane  am  ragin,  mixes 
things  mon'sous'  well  I  reckon,  but  I  gins  my  vote  tu 
that  Amherst  bull. 

"  I  wer  a-standin  ni  ontu  what  I  tuck  tu  be  the  up- 
per aind  ove  the  steepil  ove  a  chu'ch,  what  they  hed 
buried  onder  groun',  not  likin  the  perswashun  ur  the 
passun,  an'  hed  lef  the  pint  ove  the  steepil  stickin  out, 
for  a  grave  stone,  an'  a  warnin  tu  the  uther  chu'ches 
how  tu  kery  tharsefs ;  but  on  'zaminin  hit  clost,  I  foun' 
hit  wer  a  lam'-postez,  made  outen  iron,  whar  they 
burns  sum  greasy  kine  ove  air,  tu  lite  fellers  home 
what  stay  out  late  ove  nites.     They'se  mity  good  things, 


TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET.  129 

too,  fur  a  feller  tu  straiten  up  on,  fur  a  fresh  start, 
when  he's  layin  off  the  wum  ove  a  fence,  onder  a  deck- 
load  ove  tangle-laig  whisky.  I  obsarved  also  that 
they'se  jis'  the  thing  tu  freeze  fas'  ontu  when  the  watch 
man's  got  yu,  an'  yu  don't  want  tu  go,  an'  yu'll  say, 
afore  I'se  dun,  they  can  t  be  beat  at  stoppin  bulls  frum 
actin  durn'd  fool.  Lam'-postez  tharfore  am  good 
things,  when  they  keeps  outen  your  way.  A  cushion 
roun  em  about  es  hi  es  a  comon  man's  nose  frum  the 
groun',  an'  a  cock  what  wud  run  sweetened  whisky, 
wud  make  em  a  public  invenshun. 

"  Well,  that  ar  insashate  bull,  in  flyin  roun,  got  his 
stum  clos  tu  me,  an'  I,  like  a  durn'd  fool  as  I  is,  tuck 
sides  in  the  fite  agin  the  critter ;  I  reached  up  fur  the 
tassil  on  his  tail,  an'  run  twist  roun  the  lam'-postez  wif 
hit,  my  fingers  fas'  wove  intu  the  har,  bonnit  plat  fash- 
un,  sot  my  foots  agin  the  iron,  an'  tuck  a  leanin  pull. 
A  feller,  a-lookin  outen  a  small  crack  ove  a  door,  girj 
me  a  cumfortin  word.  Sez  he :  '  That's  a  good  holt, 
iaigs  ;  ef  raw-hide  don't  tar,  yu've  got  im  till  the  devil 
freezes.' 

"  Sez  I,  '  Hes  these  postez  got  deep  roots  ?' 

'"Seventeen  foot,  sez  he.' 

"  '  Then,'  sez  I,  '  this  yere  bull's  tail  will  dry  wif  two 
kinks  in  hit ;  what's  beef  wuf  ?' 

"  The  bull  sed  whoff  !  an'  sot  in  tu  pull  his  tail  out- 
en his  stum  by  the  root ;  but  hit  wer  well  sot,  an'  he 
didn't  du  hit.     He  swung  hissef  frum  side  tu  side,  an' 


130  TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 

pull'd  pow'ful.  Oh  !  lie  wer  in  yearnest  bout  that  mat- 
ter ove  tarin  out  his  tail.  At  las'  he  beller'd,  an'  I 
obsarv'd  that  the  lam'-postez  an'  my  footses  warn't  es 
clean  as  a  dinner  plate.  Thinks  I,  that's  a  sign  ove 
givin  in,  an'  I  hearn  my  frien'  holler,  '  Two  tu  one  on 
laigs.' 

"  My  han's  begun  tu  cramp  orful,  an'  I  felt  my  big 
skeer  a  cumin  on.  I  look'd  roun',  an'  thar  warn't  a 
soul  in  site  but  my  frien',  an'  I  know'd  I  cudent  count 
on  him  only  fur  kind  words,  by  the  way  he  hilt  the  door. 
Everybody  gone  glimerin,  even  the  huxters,  an'  Am- 
herst wimen. 

"  Thar  I  wer,  froze  tu  a  savidge  bull's  tail,  no  frien's, 
an'  hed  begun  hit  mysef.  My  skeer  wer  now  ripe, 
redy  tu  bust,  an'  knowin  but  wun  thing  fit  tu  du  in 
sich  cases,  I  look'd  which  way  I'd  run.  I  hearn  the 
durn'd  raskil  what  hed  been  my  frien'  say,  '  Ha !  ha ! 
two  tu  one  on  the  bull ! '  That  las'  remark  broke  my 
hart.  I  made  up  my  mine  tu  go  home  tu  the  tavrin, 
on  the  river,  as  hit  wer  down  hill,  an'  I  know'd  '  Owens ' 
wer  my  frien'. 

"  The  bull  wer  showin  white  mix'd  wif  bloody  veins 
all  roun  his  eyes,  while  the  midil  wer  green  as  a  bottil. 
I  hed  mistaken'd  the  givin-in  signs ;  he  wer  madder  nor 
ever.  I  watched  fur  him  tu  wink  his  eyes,  an'  while  he 
wer  duin  hit  I  hearn  the  cussed  cole-harted  devil  a-hine 
the  door  now  offer  four  tu  one  on  the  bull.  He  wink'd 
at  las',  an'  while  his  eyes  wer  shot,  I  let  go  the  bes'  holt 


TAURUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET.  131 

ever  mortul  man  hed  on  a  bull.  Ef  hit  hadn't  been  fur 
the  cramp,  skeer,  an'  that  feller's  bettin  agin  me,  I'd 
been  thar  yet,  a  monument  ove  enjurance,  parsavarance, 
an'  dam  fool,  still  holdin  a  dry  bull's  hide  by  the  tail. 

"  As  I  let  go,  I  sot  these  yere  laigs  a-gwine  onder 
ihree  hunder'  pound  preshure  ove  pure  skeer.  Long 
es  they  is,  they  went  apast  each  uther  as  fas'  as  the 
6pokes  ove  two  spinnin  wheels  a  runnin  contrary  ways. 
That  hell-cat  ahine  the  door  parsecuted  me  tu  the 
las',  fur  he  now  cum  out  an'  farly  yell'd :  '  Ten  tu 
one  on  the  bull,  an'  iseters  fur  the  wun  what  takes  the 
bet' 

"I  look'dj-oun,  an'  seed  one  aind  ove  the  fence  rail 
wif  the  yaller  ove  aigs  on  hit,  an'  a  lettuce  leaf  stickin 
on  a  splinter,  jist  one  good  jump  ahine  that  part  ove 
me  what  wud  git  all  the  kickin  if  ole  Burns  ever  cotch 
me.  "Well,  all  I  kin  say  is,  I  didn't  go  any  slower  fur 
that  orful  glimpse.  I  cud  hear  fust  one  aind  an'  then 
tuther  ove  that  dry  chesnut  fence  rail  strike  the  rocks, 
as  he  wud  try  tu  hist  me  with  a  whoff!  every  lunge. 
Owens,  the  lanlord,  wer  a-gwine  up  on  the  pavement, 
an'  know'd  me.  Clevei  tu  the  las',  even  ef  I  wer  on- 
der par,  he  holler'd — 

"  '  Number  ten,  Sut,  the  key's  in  the  door  ;  ha  !  ha !' 

"  Them  wer  cumfortin  words,  an'  I  put  on  a  scrim- 
shun  more  steam,  'bout  all  I  had.  I  never  'spected  tu 
see  number  ten  agin. 

"  A  feller  wif  a  face  like  a  dry  sheep-skin,  what  hed 


132  TAUEUS  IN  LYNCHBURG  MARKET. 

laid  in  a  cellar  till  hit  got  moulded,  holler'd  frum  a  up 
per  winder  :  '  Go  hit,  dubbil  laigs  !  he's  lost  his  raiV 

"  Now  this  wer  kine  ove  him,  but  hit  warn't  any  use. 
I  wer  at  the  top  ove  my  speed  aready,  an'  at  las'  hit 
proved  tu  be  a  durn'd  lie. 

"  When  I  got  tu  whar  a  warter  rail-road  fur  boats, 
an'  ducks,  runs  onder  the  street,  I  begun  tu  try  tu  bar 
tu  the  lef,  so  as  tu  hit  the  tavrin  door,  but  I  wer  a 
gwine  so  fas',  I  cudn't  sheer  a  bit,  but  struck  the  flat- 
form  about  the  midil,  cross'd  hit  like  a  shot,  busted 
thru  the  railin  an'  a  bainch,  carryin  away  bout  six  foot 
ove  each,  an'  a  sleepin  nigger.  Down,  down — ker- 
lunge,  twenty-five  foot  intu  the  river.  I  lit  a-swimin 
fur  I  spected  every  moment  tu  hev  tail,  rail,  an'  ho'ns, 
wif  thuteen  hundr'  poun's  ove  bull  meat,  atop  ove  me. 
I  swum  out  tu  a  rock  pile,  an'  hearn  him  lumberin  thru 
the  bridge  like  he  weighed  four  tons.  I  seed  him  run 
outen  tuther  aind,  rail  an'  all,  an'  his  tail  es  strait  up  in 
the  air  as  hit  wer  when  he  wer  histin  aig-baskits  an' 
wimin,  scept  hit  hed  two  kinks  in  hit,  put  thar  by  the 
lam'-postez.  He  disappeared  amung  the  Amherst  hiHs, 
a  smarter  bull  by  a  durn'd  site,  ef  'sperience  am  wuth 
a  durn.  I'll  bet  he  often  counts  the  valuer  ove  a  tail 
in  fly -time,  agin  the  bother  ove  one  in  fitin,  an'  envys 
stump-tail  bulls  'cordinly.  That's  the  las'  muss  I  hes 
tuck  sides  in,  whar  I  din't  keer  a  cuss  which  whipp'd 
an'  I  hed  tu  du  a  marster  fool  thing  while  hit  wer 
gwine  on." 


TAUBUS  IN   LYNCHBURG  MARKET.  133 

"What  do  you  allude  to,  Sut?" 

"Why,  instead  ove  freezin  tu  that  bull's  tail,  what 
didn't  pay,  I  orter  saved  them  gole  specks,  an'  stick 
ut  what  wud  pay. 

"They  telegrafed  tu  Stantun  fur  a  committee  ove 
doctors,  tu  'zamine  me  fur  the  honors  ove  the  lunatic 
asslum.  When  they  got  thar,  they  foun'  nuffin  tu 
'zamine,  but  the  karacter  I  hed  lef  fur  bein  a  nat'ral 
born  durn'd  fool,  an'  a  crack'd  whisky  flask.  They 
wer  sittin  on  hit,  when  I  hearn  frum  em  las',  an'  hed 
sent  fur  the  bull  tu  take  his  testimony.  I  bet  he 
don't  cum,  by  thunder !  " 


MRS.  TARDIET'S  QUILTING. 


"  Thar's  one  durn'd  nasty  muddy  job,  an'  I  is  jis1 
glad  ennf  tu  take  a  ho:n  ur  two,  on  the  straingth  ove 
hit" 

"  "What  have  you  been  doing,  Sut  ?" 

"  Helpin  tu  salt  ole  Missis  Yardley  down." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Fixin  her  fur  rotten  cumfurtably,  kiverin  her  up 
wif  sile,  tu  keep  the  buzzards  frum  cheatin  the  wurms." 

"  Oh,  you  have  been  helping  to  bury  a  woman." 

"  That's  hit,  by  golly  !  Now  why  the  devil  can't  I 
'splain  mysef  like  yu  ?  I  ladles  out  my  words  at  ran- 
dum,  like  a  calf  kickin  at  yaller-jackids ;  yu  jis'  rolls 
em  out  tu  the  pint,  like  a  feller  a-layin  bricks — every 
one  fits.  How  is  it  that  bricks  fits  so  clost  enyhow  ? 
Rocks  won't  ni  du  hit." 

"  Becaze  they'se  all  ove  a  size,"  ventured  a  man  with 
a  wen  over  his  eye. 

"  The  devil  yu  say,  hon'ey-head !  haint  reapin-mer- 
sheens  ove  a  size  ?  I'd  like  tu  see  two  ove  em  fit  clost 
Yu  wait  ontil  yu  sprouts  tuther  ho'n,  afore  yu  venters 


mes.  yardley' s  quilting.  135 

tu  'splain  mix'd  questions.  George,  did  yu  know  ole 
Missis  Yardley?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  she  wer  a  carious  'oman  in  her  way,  an'  she 
wore  shiney  specks.  Now  jis'  listen :  Whenever  yu 
see  a  ole  'oman  ahine  a  par  ove  shiney  specks,  yu  keep 
yer  eye  skinn'd ;  they  am  dang'rus  in  the  extreme. 
Thar  is  jis'  no  knowin  what  they  ken  du.  I  hed  one 
a-stradil  ove  me  onst,  fur  kissin  her  gal.  She  went 
fur  my  har,  an'  she  went  fur  my  skin,  ontil  I  tho't  she 
ment  tu  kill  me,  an'  wud  a-dun  hit,  ef  my  hollerin 
hadent  fotch  ole  Dave  Jordan,  a  bacheler,  tu  my  aid- 
He,  like  a  durn'd  fool,  cotch  her  by  the  laig,  an'  drug 
her  back'ards  of  en  me.  She  jis'  kivered  him,  an'  I  run, 
by  golly !  The  nex  time  I  seed  him  he  wer  bald 
headed,  an'  his  face  looked  like  he'd  been  a-ntin  wild- 
cats. 

"  Ole  Missis  Yardley  wer  a  great  noticer  ove  littil 
things,  that  nobody  else  ever  seed.  She'd  say  right  in 
the  middil  ove  sumbody's  serious  talk :  '  Law  sakes  ! 
thar  goes  that  yaller  slut  ove  a  hen,  a-flingin  straws  over 
her  shoulder ;  she's  arter  settin  now,  an'  haint  laid  but 
seven  aigs.  I'll  disapint  her,  see  ef  I  don't ;  I'll  put  a 
punkin  in  her  ne's,  an'  a  feather  in  her  nose.  An'  bless 
my  soul !  jis'  look  at  that  cow  wif  the  wilted  ho'n, 
a-flingin  up  dirt  an'  a-smellin  the  place  whar  hit  cum 
frum,  wif  the  rale  ginuine  still- wurim  twis'  in  her  tail, 
too ;  what  upon  the  face  ove  the  yeath  kin  she  be  arter 


136  MRS.  yardley's  quilting. 

now,  the  ole  fool  ?  watch  her,  Sally.  An'  sakes  alive, 
jis'  look  at  that  ole  sow ;  she's  a-gwine  in  a  fas'  trot,  wif 
her  empty  bag  a-floppin  agin  her  sides.  Thar,  she  hes 
stop't,  an's  a-listenin !  massy  on  us  !  what  a  long  yearnis 
grunt  she  gin ;  hit  cum  frum  way  back  ove  her  kidneys. 
Thar  she  goes  agin ;  she's  arter  no  good,  sich  kerryin 
on  means  no  good-' 

"  An'  so  she  wud  gabble,  no  odds  who  wer  a-listenin. 
She  looked  like  she  mout  been  made  at  fust  'bout  four 
foot  long,  an'  the  common  thickness  ove  wimen  when 
they's  at  tharsefs,  an'  then  had  her  har  tied  tu  a  stump, 
a  par  ove  steers  hitched  to  her  heels,  an'  then  straiched 
out  a-mos'  two  foot  more — mos'  ove  the  straichm 
cumin  outen  her  laigs  an'  naik.  Her  stockins,  a-hangin 
on  the  clothes-line  tu  dry,  looked  like  a  par  ove  sabre 
scabbards,  an'  her  naik  looked  like  a  dry  beef  shank 
I  smoked,  an'  mout  been  ni  ontu  es  tough.  I  never  felt 
hit  mysef,  I  didn't,  I  jis'  j edges  by  looks.  Her  darter 
Sal  wer  bilt  at  fust  'bout  the  laingth  ove  her  nvam,  but 
wer  never  straiched  eny  by  a  par  ove  steers^  an'  she 
wer  fat  enuf  tu  kill ;  she  wer  taller  lyin  down  than  she 
wer  a-standin  up.  Hit  wer  her  who  gin  me  the  '  hump 
shoulder.'  Jis'  look  at  me ;  haint  I'se  got  a  tech  ove  the 
dromedary  back  thar  bad?  haint  I  humpy?  Well, 
a-stoopin  tu  kiss  that  squatty  lard-stan  ove  a  gal  is 
what  dun  hit  tu  me.  She  wer  the  fairest-lookin  gal  I 
ever  seed.  She  allers  wore  thick  woolin  stockins  'bout 
six  inches  too  long  fur  her  laig ;  they  rolled  down  ovei 


MRS.  yaedley's  quilting.  137 

her  garters,  lookin  like  a  par  ove  ljfe-presarvers  up  thar. 
I  tell  yu  slie  wer  a  tarin  gal  enyhow.  Luved  kissin, 
wrastlin,  an'  biled  cabbige,  an'  hated  tite  clothes,  hot 
weather,  an'  suckit-riders.  B'leved  strong  in  married 
folk's  ways,  cradles,  an'  the  remishun  ove  sins,  an' 
didn't  b'leve  in  corsets,  fleas,  peaners,  nor  the  fashun 
plates." 

"  What  caused  the  death  of  Mrs.  Yardley,  Sut?" 
"  Nuffin,  only  her  heart  stop't  beatin  'bout  losin  a 
nine  dimunt  quilt.  True,  she  got  a  skeer'd  hoss  tu  run 
over  her,  but  she'd  a-got  over  that  ef  a  quilt  hadn't  been 
mix'd  up  in  the  catastrophy.  Yu  see  quilts  wer  wun 
ove  her  speshul  gifts ;  she  run  strong  on  the  bed-kiver 
question.  Irish  chain,  star  ove  Texas,  sun-flower,  nine 
dimunt,  saw  teeth,  checker  board,  an'  shell  quilts; 
blue,  an'  white,  an'  yaller  an'  black  coverlids,  an'  callic- 
kercumfurts  reigned  triumphan'  'bout  her  hous'.  They 
wer  packed  in  drawers,  layin  in  shelfs  full,  wer  hung 
four  dubbil  on  lines  in  the  lof,  packed  in  chists,  piled 
on  cheers,  an'  wer  everywhar,  even  ontu  the  beds,  an' 
wer  changed  every  bed-makin.  She  told  everybody  she 
cud  git  tu  listen  tu  hit  that  she  ment  tu  give  every 
durn'd  one  ove  them  tu  Sal  when  she  got  married. 
Oh,  lordy !  what  es  fat  a  gal  es  Sal  Yardley  cud  ever 
du  wif  half  ove  em,  an'  sleepin  wif  a  husbun  at  that,  is 
more  nor  I  ever  cud  see  through.  Jis'  think  ove  her 
onder  twenty  layer  ove  quilts  in  July,  an'  yu  in  thar 
too.     Gewhillikins !  Greorge,  look  how  I  is  sweatin'  now, 


38  mrs.  yardley's  quilting. 

an'  this  is  December.  I'd  'bout  es  lief  be  shet  up  in  a 
steam  biler  wif  a  three  hundred  pound  bag  ove  lard,  es 
tu  make  a  bisiness  ove  sleepin  wif  that  gal — 'twould 
kill  a  glass-blower. 

"  Well,  tu  cum  tu  the  serious  part  ove  this  conversa- 
shun,  that  is  how  the  old  quilt-mersheen  an'  coverlid- 
loom  cum  tu  stop  operashuns  on  this  yeath.  She  hed 
narrated  hit  thru  the  neighborhood  that  nex  Saterday 
she'd  gin  a  quiltin — three  quilts  an'  one  cumfurt  tu  tie. 
'Groblers,  fiddils,  gals,  an'  whisky,'  wer  the  words  she 
sent  tu  the  men-folk,  an'  more  tetchin  ur  wakenin 
words  never  drap't  ofen  an  'oman's  tongue.  She  seel 
tu  the  gals,  'Sweet  toddy,  huggin,  dancin,  an'  huggers 
in  'bundunce.'  Them  words  struck  the  gals  rite  in 
the  pit  ove  the  stumick,  an'  spread  a  ticklin  sensashun 
bof  ways,  ontil  they  scratched  thar  heads  wif  one  han, 
an'  thar  heels  wif  tuther. 

"  Everybody,  he  an'  she,  what  wer  baptized  b'levers 
in  the  righteousnes  ove  quiltins  wer  thar,  an'  hit  jis'  so 
happen'd  that  everybody  in  them  parts,  frum  fifteen 
summers  tu  fifty  winters,  wer  unannamus  b'levers. 
Strange,  warn't  hit  ?  Hit  wer  the  bigges'  quiltin  ever 
Missis  Yardley  hilt,  an'  she  hed  hilt  hundreds ;  every- 
body wer  thar,  'scept  the  constibil  an'  suckit-rider,  two 
ciam  easily-spared  pussons ;  the  numbers  ni  ontu  even 
too ;  jis'  a  few  more  boys  nur  gals  ;  that  made  hit  more 
exhitin,  fur  hit  gin  the  gals  a  chance  tu  kick  an'  squeal 
a  littil,  wifout  runnin  eny  risk  ove  not  gittin  kissed  at 


mss.  yaedley's  quilting.  139 

all,  an'  hit  gin  reasonabil  grouns  fur  a  few  scrimmages 
aiming  the  he's.  Now  es  kissin  an'  fitin  am  the  pepper 
an'  salt  ove  all  soshul  getherins,  so  hit  wer  more  espish- 
ully  wif  this  ove  ours.  Es  I  swung  my  eyes  over  the 
crowd,  George,  I  thought  quiltins,  managed  in  a  morril 
an'  sensibil  way,  truly  am  good  things — good  fur  free 
drinkin,  good  fur  free  eatin,  good  fur  free  huggin,  good 
fur  free  dancin,  good  fur  free  fitin,  an'  goodest  ove  all 
fur  poperlatin  a  country  fas'. 

"  Thar  am  a  fur-seein  wisdum  in  quiltins,  ef  they  hes 
proper  trimmins :  '  vittils,  fiddils,  an'  sperrits  in  'bun- 
dunce.'  One  holesum  quiltin  am  wuf  three  old  pray'r 
meetins  on  the  poperlashun  pint,  purtickerly  ef  hits 
hilt  in  the  dark  ove  the  moon,  an'  runs  intu  the  nighl 
a  few  hours,  an'  April  ur  May  am  the  time  chosen. 
The  moon  don't  suit  quiltins  whar  everybody  is  well 
acquainted  an'  already  fur  along  in  courtin.  She  dus 
help  pow'ful  tu  begin  a  courtin  match  onder,  but  when 
hit  draws  ni  ontu  a  head,  nobody  wants  a  moon  but  the 
ole  mammys. 

"The  mornin  cum,  still,  saft,  sunshiney;  cocks 
crowin,  hens  singin,  birds  chirpin,  tuckeys  gobblin — jis' 
the  day  tu  sun  quilts,  kick,  kiss,  squeal,  an'  make 
love. 

"  All  the  plow-lines  an'  clothes-lines  wer  straiched  tu 
every  post  an'  tree.  Quilts  purvailed.  Durn  my  giz- 
zard ef  two  acres  roun  that  ar  house  warn't  jis'  one  solid 
quilt,  all  out  a-sunnin,  an'  tu  be  seed.     They  dazzled 


140  mbs.  yaedley's  quilting. 

the  eyes,  skeered  the  hosses,  gin  wimen  the  heart-burn, 
an'  perdominated. 

"  To'ards  sundown  the  he's  begun  tu  drap  in.  Year- 
nis'  needil-drivin  cummenced  tu  lose  groun;  threads 
broke  of  en,  thimbils  got  los',  an'  quilts  needed  anuther 
roll.  Gigglin,  winkin,  whisperin,  smoofm  ove  har,  an' 
gals  a-ticklin  one  anuther,  wer  a-gainin  every  inch  ove 
groun  what  the  needils  los'.  Did  yu  ever  notis, 
George,  at  all  soshul  getherins,  when  the  he's  begin  tu 
gather,  that  the  young  she's  begin  tu  tiekil  one  anuther 
an'  the  ole  maids  swell  thar  tails,  roach  up  thar  backs, 
an'  sharpen  thar  nails  ontu  the  bed-posts  an'  door  jams, 
an'  spit  an'  groan  sorter  like  cats  a-courtin  ?  Dus  hit 
mean  rale  rath,  ur  is  hit  a  dare  tu  the  he's,  sorter 
kivered  up  wif  the  outside  signs  ove  danger?  I  hon- 
estly b'leve  that  the  young  shes'  ticklin  means,  '  Cum 
an'  take  this  job  ofen  our  hans.'  But  that  swellin 
I  jis'  don't  onderstan;  dus  yu?  Hit  looks  skeery, 
an'  I  never  tetch  one  ove  em  when  they  am  in  the 
swellin  way.  I  may  be  mistaken'd  'bout  the  ticklin 
bisiness  too  ;  hit  may  be  dun  like  a  feller  chaws  poplar 
bark  when  he  haint  got  eny  terbacker,  a-sorter  better 
nur  nun  make-shif.  I  dus  know  one  thing  tu  a  cer- 
tainty :  that  is,  when  the  he's  take  hold  the  ticklin 
quits,  an'  ef  yu  gits  one  ove  the  ole  maids  out  tu  hersef, 
then  she  subsides  an'  is  the  smoofes,  sleekes,  saft  thing 
yu  ever  seed,  an'  dam  ef  yu  can't  hear  her  purr,  jis'  es 
plain ! 


Mrs.  yaedley's  quilting.  141 

"But  then,  George,  gals  an'  ole  maids  haint  the 
things  tu  fool  time  away  on.  Hits  widders,  by  golly, 
what  am  the  rale  sensibil,  steady -goin,  never-skeerin,  \ 
never-kickin,  willin,  sperrited,  smoof  pacers.  They  \ 
cum  clost  up  tu  the  hoss-block,  standin  still  wif  thar 
purty  silky  years  playin,  an'  the  naik- veins  a-throbbin, 
an'  waits  far  the  word,  which  ove  course  yu  gives,  arter 
yu  finds  yer  feet  well  in  the  stirrup,  an'  away  they 
moves  like  a  cradil  on  cushioned  rockers,  ur  a  spring 
buggy  runnin  in  damp  san'.  A  tetch  ove  the  bridil, 
an'  they  knows  yu  wants  em  tu  turn,  an'  they  dus  hit 
es  wiOtti  es  ef  the  idear  wer  thar  own.  I  be  dod  rab- 
bited ef  a  man  can't  'propriate  happiness  by  the  skinful 
ef  hf  is  in  contack  wif  sumbody's  widder,  an'  is  smart. 
Gin  vne  a  willin  widder,  the  yeath  over :  what  they 
don't  know,  haint  worth  larnin.  They  hes  all  been  tu 
Jarnakey  an'  larnt  how  sugar's  made,  an'  knows  how  tu 
sweeten  wif  hit ;  an'  by  golly,  they  is  always  ready  tu 
use  hit.  All  yu  hes  tu  du  is  tu  find  the  spoon,  an'  then 
drink  cumfort  till  yer  blind.  Nex  tu  good  sperrits  an' 
my  laigs,  I  likes  a  twenty-five  year  ole  widder,  wif  roun 
ankils,  an'  bright  eyes,  honestly  an'  squarly  lookin  intu 
yarn,  an'  sayin  es  plainly  es  a  partrige  sez  '  Bob  White,' 
'  Don't  be  afraid  ove  me  ;  I  hes  been  thar ;  yu  know 
hit  ef  yu  hes  eny  sense,  an'  thar's  no  use  in  eny  hum- 
bug,  ole  feller — cum  ahead !' 

"  Ef  yu  onderstans  widder  nater,  they  ken  save  yu  a 
power  ove  troubil,  onsartinty,  an'  time,  an'  ef  yu  is  in- 


142  MRS.  yaedlet's  quilting. 

terprisin  yu  gits  mons'rous  well  paid  fur  hit.  The  very 
soun  ove  thar  littil  shoe-heels  speak  full  trainin,  an'  hea 
a  knowin  click  as  they  tap  the  floor ;  an'  the  rustil  ove 
thar  dress  sez,  '  I  dar  yu  tu  ax  me.' 

"  When  yu  hes  made  up  yer  mind  tu  court  one,  jis* 

go  at  hit  like  hit  wer  a  job  ove  rail-maulin.     Ware  yer 

workin  close,  use  yer  common,  every-day  moshuns  an' 

words,  an'  abuv  all,  fling  away  yer  cinamint  ile  vial  an' 

burn  all  yer  love  songs.     No  use  in  tryin  tu  fool  em, 

fur  they  sees  plum  thru   yu,  a   durn'd  sight  plainer 

than  they  dus  thru  thar  veils.     No   use  in   a  pasted 

shut ;  she's  been  thar.     No  use  in  borrowin  a  cavortin 

fat  hoss ;    she's  been  thar.     No  use  in  har-dye ;    she's 

been  thar.     No  use  in  cloves,  tu  kill  whisky  breff ;  she's 

been  thar.     No  use  in  buyin  clost  curtains  fur  yer  bed, 

>£ar  she  has  been  thar.     Widders  am  a  speshul  means, 

/    George,  fur  ripenin  green  men,  killin  off   weak  ones, 

I       an  makin  'ternally  happy  the  soun  ones. 

"  Well,  es  I  sed  afore,  I  flew  the  track  an'  got  ontu 
the  widders.  The  fellers  begun  tu  ride  up  an'  walk  up, 
sorter  slow,  like  they  warn't  in  a  hurry,  the  durn'd 
'saitful  raskils,  hitchin  thar  critters  tu  enything  they 
cud  find.  One  red-comb'd,  long-spurr'd,  dominecker 
feller,  frum  town,  in  a  red  an'  white  grid-iron  jackid 
an'  patent  leather  gaiters,  hitched  his  hoss,  a  wild, 
skeery,  wall-eyed  devil,  inside  the  yard  palins,  tu  a 
cherry  tree  lim'.  Thinks  I,  that  hoss  hes  a  skeer 
intu  him  big  emu  tu  run  mtu    town,    an'    pernaps 


MRS.  yardley's  quilting.  143 

beyant  hit,  ef  I  kin  only  tetch  hit  off;  so  I  sot  intu 
thinkin. 

"  One  aind  ove  a  long  clothes-line,  wif  nine  dimunt 
quilts  ontu  hit,  wer  tied  tu  the  same  cherry  tree  that 
the  hoss  wer.  I  tuck  my  knife  and  socked  hit  thru  v 
every  quilt,  'bout  the  middil,  an'  jis'  below  the  rope,  an' 
tied  them  thar  wif  bark,  so  they  cudent  slip.  Then  I 
went  'tu  the  back  aind,  an'  ontied  hit  frum  the  pos', 
knottin  in  a  hoe-handil,  by  the  middil,  tu  keep  the 
quilts  frum  slippin  off  ef  my  bark  strings  failed,  an' 
laid  hit  on  the  groun.  Then  I  went  tu  the  tuther  aind  : 
thar  wer  'bout  ten  foot  tu  spar,  a-lyin  on  the  groun  arter 
tyin  tu  the  tree.  I  tuck  hit  atwix  Wall-eye's  hine 
laigs,  an'  tied  hit  fas'  tu  bof  stirrups,  an'  then  cut  the 
cherry  tree  lim'  betwix  his  bridil  an'  the  tree,  almos' 
off.  Now,  mine  yu  thar  wer  two  ur  three  uther  ropes 
full  ove  quilts  atween  me  an'  the  hous',  so  I  wer  purty 
well  hid  frum  thar.  I  jis'  tore  off  a  palin  frum  the 
fence,  an'  tuck  hit  in  bof  hans,  an'  arter  raisin  hit  'way 
up  yander,  I  fotch  hit  down,  es  hard  es  I  cud,  flatsided 
to'ards  the  groun,  an'  hit  acksidentally  happen'd  tu  hit 
Wall-eye,  'bout  nine  inches  ahead  ove  the  root  ove  his 
tail.  Hit  landed  so  hard  that  hit  made  my  hans  tingle, 
an'  then  busted  intu  splinters.  The  first  thing  I  did, 
wer  tu  feel  ove  mysef,  on  the  same  spot  whar  hit  hed 
hit  the  hoss.  I  cudent  help  duin  hit  tu  save  my  life, 
an'  I  swar  I  felt  sum  ove  Wall-eye's  sensashun,  jis'  es 
plain.     The  fust  thing  he  did,  wer  tu  tare  down  the 


144  MRS.  yaedley's  quilting. 

lim'  wif  a  twenty  footjump,  his  head  to'ards  the  hous;. 
Thinks  I,  now  yu  hev  dun  hit,  yu  durn'd  wall-eyed 
fool !  tarin  down  that  lim'  wer  the  beginin  ove  all  the 
troubil,  an'  the  hoss  did  hit  hissef ;  my  conshuns  felt 
clar  es  a  mountin  spring,  an'  I  wer  in  a  frame  ove  mine 
tu  obsarve  things  es  they  happen'd,  an'  they  soon  be- 
gun tu  happen  purty  clost  arter  one  anuther  rite  then, 
an'  thar,  an'  tharabouts,  clean  ontu  town,  thru  hit,  an' 
still  wer  a-happenin,  in  the  woods  beyant  thar  ni  ontu 
eleven  mile  frum  ole  man  Yardley's  gate,  an'  four  be- 
yant town. 

■  "  The  fust  line  ove  quilts  he  tried  tu  jump,  but  broke 
hit  down ;  the  nex  one  he  ran  onder ;  the  rope  cotch 
ontu  the  ho'n  ove  the  saddil,  broke  at  bof  ainds,  an' 
went  along  wif  the  hoss,  the  cherry  tree  lim'  an'  the 
fust  line  ove  quilts,  what  I  hed  proverdensally  tied  fas' 
tu  the  rope.  That's  what  I  calls  foresight,  George. 
Right  furnint  the  frunt  door  he  cum  in  contack  wif  ole 
Missis  Yardley  hersef,  an'  anuther  ole  'oman ;  they  wer 
A-holdin  a  Dine  dimunt  quilt  spread  out,  a-'zaminin  hit, 
an'  a-praifwn  hits  purfeckshuns.  The  durn'd  onman- 
•srly,  wall  eyed  fool  run  plum  over  Missis  Yardley, 
frum  ahine,  stompt  one  hine  foot  through  the  quilt, 
takin  hit  along,  a-kickin  ontil  he  made  hits  corners  snap 
like  a  whip.  The  gals  screamed,  the  men  hollered  wo ! 
an'  the  ole  'oman  wer  toted  intu  the  hous'  limber  es  a 
wet  string,  an'  every  word  she  sed  wer,  '  Oh,  my  preshus 
nine  dimunt  quilt !' 


mes.  yaedley's  quilting.  145 

"Wall-eye  busted  thru  the  palins,  an'  Dominicker 
sed  'im,  made  a  mortal  rush  fur  his  bitts,  wer  too  late 
fur  them,  but  in  good  time  far  the  strings  ove  flyin 
quilts,  got  tangled  amung  em,  an'  the  gridiron  jackid 
patren  wer  los'  tu  my  sight  amung  star  an'  Irish  chain 
quilts ;  he  went  frum  that  quiltin  at  the  rate  ove  thuty 
miles  tu  the  hour.  Nuffin  lef  on  the  lot  ove  the  hole 
consarn,  but  a  nine  biler  hat,  a  par  ove  gloves,  an 
the  jack  ove  hearts. 

"  What  a  onmanerly,  suddin  way  ove  leavin  places 
sum  folks  hev  got,  enyhow. 

"  Thinks  I,  well,  that  fool  hoss,  tarin  down  that 
cherry  tree  lim',  hes  dun  sum  good,  enyhow;  hit  hes 
put  the  ole  'oman  outen  the  way  fur  the  balance  ove 
the  quiltin,  an'  tuck  Dominicker  outen  the  way  an' 
outen  danger,  fur  that  gridiron  jackid  wud  a-bred  a 
scab  on  his  nose  afore  midnite ;  hit  wer  morrily  boun 
tu  du  hit. 

"Two  months  arterwards,  I  tracked  the  route  that 
hoss  tuck  in  his  kalamatus  skeer,  by  quilt  rags,  tufts 
ove  cotton,  bunches  ove  har,  (human  an'  hoss,)  an' 
scraps  ove  a  gridiron  jackid  stickin  ontu  the  bushes, 
an'  plum  at  the  aind  ove  hit,  whar  all  signs  gin  out,  I 
foun  a  piece  ove  watch  chain  an'  a  hosses  head.  The 
places  what  know'd  Dominicker,  know'd  'im  no  more. 

"  Well,  arter  they'd  tuck  the  ole  'oman  up  stairs  an' 
camnred  her  tu  sleep,  things  begun  tu  work  agin  The 
widders  broke  the  ice,  an'  arter  a  littil  gigilin,  goblin, 


146  MKS.   YAEDLEl's   QUILTING. 

an'  gabblin,  the  kissin  begun.  Smack  1 — '  Thar,  now,1 
a  widder  sed  that.  Pop  !— '  Oh,  don't !'  Pfip  /— '  Oh, 
yu  quit !'  Plosh ! — '  Go  way  yu  awkerd  critter,  yu 
kissed  me  in  the  eye !'  anuther  widder  sed  that.  Bop  ! 
1  Now  yu  ar  satisfied,  I  recon,  big  mouf!'  Vip  ! — '  That 
haint  fair!'  Spat! — 'Oh,  lordy !  May,  cum  pull  Bill 
away;  he's  a-tanglin  my  har.'  Thut! — 'I  jis'  d-a-r-e 
yu  tu  du  that  agin!'  a  widder  sed  that,  too.  Hit 
sounded  all  'roan  that  room  like  poppin  co'n  in  a  hot 
skillet,  an'  wer  pow'ful  sujestif. 

"  Hit  kep  on  ontil  I  be  durn'd  ef  my  bristils  didn't 
begin  tu  rise,  an'  sumthin  like  a  cold  buckshot  wud 
run  down  the  marrow  in  my  back-bone  'bout  every  ten 
secons,  an'  then  run  up  agin,  tolerabil  hot.  I  kep  a 
swallerin  wif  nuthin  tu  swaller,  an'  my  face  felt  swell'd ; 
an'  yet  I  wer  fear'd  tu  make  a  bulge.  Thinks  I,  I'll 
ketch  one  out  tu  hersef  torreckly,  an'  then  I  guess  we'll 
rastiL  Purty  soon  Sal  Yardley  started  fur  the  smoke* 
'ous,  so  I  jis'  gin  my  head  I  few  short  shakes,  let  down 
one  ove  my  wings  a4railin,  an'  sirkiled  roun  her  wif  a 
side  twis'  in  my  naik,  steppin  sidewise,  an'  a-fetchin  up 
my  hinmos'  foot  wif  a  sorter  jerkin  slide  at  every  step. 
Sez  I,  'Too  coo-took  a-too.'  She  onderstood  hit,  an 
stopt,  sorter  spreadin  her  shoulders.  An'  jis'  es  I  hed 
pouch'd  out  my  mouf,  an'  wer  a-reachin  forrid  wif  hit, 
fur  the  article  hitsef,  sunthin  interfared  wif  me,  hit  did. 
George,  wer  yu  ever  ontu  yer  hans  an'  knees,  an'  let  a 
hell-tarin  big,  mad  ram,  wif  a  ten-yard  run,  but  yu 


MRS.  yardley's  quilting.  147 

yearnis'ly,  jis'  onst,  right  squar  ontu  the  pint  ove  yei 
back-bone?" 

"No,  you  fool ;  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Kaze  I  wanted  tu  know  ef  yu  cud  hev  a  realizin1 
noshun  ove  my  shock.  Hits  scarcely  worth  while  tu 
try  tu  make  yu  onderstan  the  case  by  words  only,  on- 
less  yu  hev  been  tetched  in  that  way.  Gr-eat  golly ! 
the  fust  thing  I  felt,  I  tuck  hit  tu  be  a  back-ackshun 
yeathquake ;  an'  the  fust  thing  I  seed  wer  my  chaw'r 
terbacker  a-flyin  over  Sal's  head  like  a  skeer'd  bat. 
My  mouf  wer  pouch'd  out,  ready  fur  the  article  hitsef, 
yu  know,  an'  hit  went  outen  the  roun  hole  like  the 
wad  outen  a  pop-gun — thug !  an'  the  fust  thing  ] 
know'd,  I  wer  a  flyin  over  Sal's  head  too,  an'  a-gainin 
on  the  chaw'r  terbacker  fast.  I  wer  straitened  out 
strait,  toes  hinemos',  middil  finger-nails  foremos',  an' 
the  fust  thing  I  hearn  wer,  '  Yu  dam  Shanghi !'  Great 
Jerus-a-lam  !  I  lit  ontu  my  all  fours  jis'  in  time  tu  but 
the  yard  gate  ofen  hits  hinges,  an'  skeer  loose  sum  more 
hosses — kep  on  in  a  four-footed  gallop,  clean  acrost  the 
lane  afore  I  cud  straiten  up,  an'  yere  I  cotch  up  wif  my 
chaw'r  terbacker,  stickin  flat  agin  a  fence-rail.  I  hed 
got  so  good  a  start  that  I  thot  hit  a  pity  tu  spile  hit,  so 
I  jis'  jump'd  the  fence  an'  tuck  thru  the  orchurcL  I  tell 
yu  I  dusted  these  yere  close,  fur  I  tho't  hit  wer  arter 
me. 

"  Arter  runnin  a  spell,  I  ventered  tu  feel  roun  back 
thar.  fur  sum  signs  ove  what  hed  happened   tu   me, 


148  MBS.  yardley's  quilting. 

George,  arter  two  pow'ful  hardtugs,  I  pull'd  out  the 
vamp  an'  sole  ove  one  ove  ole  man  Yardley's  big 
brogans,  what  he  hed  los'  amung  my  coat-tails.  Dre'- 
ful !  dre'ful !  Arter  I  got  hit  away  frum  thar,  my 
flesh  went  fes'  asleep,  frum  abnv  my  kidneys  tu  my 
knees ;  about  now,  fur  the  fust  time,  the  idear  struck 
me,  what  hit  wer  that  hed  interfar'd  wif  me,  an'  los'  me 
the  kiss.  Hit  wer  ole  Yardley  hed  kicked  me.  I 
walked  fur  a  month  like  I  wer  straddlin  a  thorn  hedge. 
Sich  a  shock,  at  sich  a  time,  an'  on  sich  a  place — jis' 
think  ove  hit !  hit  am  tremenjus,  haint  hit?  The  place 
feels  num,  right  now." 

"  Well,  Sut,  how  did  the  quilting  come  out  ?" 
"  How  the  hell  du  yu  'speck  me  tu  know  ?    I  warn't 
thar  eny  more." 


SUT  LOVINGOOD'S  DOG. 


"  Boys,  I  never  told  eny  on  ye  ove  my  dog  scrape, 
did  I?" 

"  No,  Sut,  not  as  we  knows  on ;  you've  mixed  up 
dog  so  in  all  yer  doins,  that  we  can't  tell  adzactly 
what  dog  scrape  ye  mean." 

"  Well,  I  mean  ole  '  Stuff-gut'  Did  eny  on  ye  ever 
see  'im?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  ye  missed  a  site.  He  wur  a  powerful  dog, 
an'  sometimes  ye'd  think  that  he  wur  two  ur  three  dogs, 
ef  ye  seed  him  eat ;  not  a-countin  ove  his  tail,  fur  he 
hedn't  eny.  When  he  wur  a  pup,  dad,  durn  him,  tuck 
'im  tu  a  straw-cutter,  jamed  his  starn  clost  up  tu  the 
frame  ove  the  cussed  gullotine,  an'  foch  down  the  knife, 
an'  thar  lay  the  hole  tail  in  the  troffc,  like  a  letter  S,  an' 
here  run  the  pup  a  youlin  like  a  hound,  an*  his  starn 
looked  like  you'd  busted  a  ripe  tomatis  onto  hit.  Well, 
it  changed  his  looks  mitely,  an'  his  nater  more.  Now 
as  to  his  looks,  rite  ontu  the  spot  whar  his  tail  orter 
staid,  thar  grow'd  a  bunch  ove  stiff,  ash-cullured  brist- 
les, what  pinted  every  way,  like  onto  a  split  broom 


150  sut  lovingood's  dog. 

with  the  rappin  cut  loose,  an'  rite  in  the  middil  ove  all 
this  fuzzy  lookin  patch  ove  har,  the  pint  ove  his  back- 
bone, kivered  with  a  gristil,  stuck  out  like  onto  a  pidg- 
in's aig,  caze  he  sot  ontu  hit  so  much.  Well,  the  afar 
looked  mity  sassy  and  fite  like,  eny  how,  purticulerly 
when  he  wur  a  struttin  up  tu  a  big  strange  dog  tu  smell 
ove  'im.  It  made  his  sturn  look  hier  than  his  sholders, 
pupendiculer  and  squar ;  an'  he  hed  a  way  ove  walkin 
slow  an'  solemn  like  I've  seed  yung  fellers  do  at  camp- 
meetin  when  approachin  ove  a  gal  at  the  spring  with 
thar  stud-hoss  close  on,  agwine  sorter  side  ways  an' 
mity  keerful.  I've  seed  little  hogs  go  through  the 
same  motions,  wun  in  a  peach  orchard,  an'  tuther  in  the 
lane,  when  they  thoi  they  wanted  tu  fite,  an'  wud  a  dun 
hit  but  fur  the  fence  what  wur  atween  em.  I  never 
found  out  that  he  wur  good  fur  enything  but  tu  keep 
bred  frum  mouldin,  an'  meat  frum  spilin  ;  an'  when  he 
wanted  tu  show  glad,  es  he  hed  no  tale  tu  wag,  he 
wagged  his  hole  sturn,  an'  his  hine  feet  slipped  about 
on  the  groun,  sorter  like  a  fashunabil  gal  walks  when 
she  thinks  sum  he  feller  is  lookin  at  'er.  He  wur  cul- 
lured  adzackly  like  a  mildewed  saddil  skirt,  an'  he  ker- 
ried  his  years  on  a  no  win  sort  of  cock,  like  ontu  a  muel's 
when  he  is  skeered.  He'd  whiskers  round  his  eyes,  an' 
on  his  hine  laigs,  an'  must  had  a  pow'ful  activ  ccnsince, 
fur  he  wur  the  meanest  countinenced  dog  I  ever  seed 
in  my  life.  Now  as  tu  his  nater,  yu  cud  never  set  'im 
ontu  enything  yu  wanted  tu,  an'  cudn't  call  'im  ofen 


sut  lotingood's  dog,  151 

enything  lie  got  arter  on  his  own  accord.  He  wur 
skeered  all  the  time,  an'  stud  redy  tu  run  ur  tu  steal,  as 
the  chances  mout  be ;  an'  takin  'im  altogether,  he  wur 
jis'  the  rite  sort  ove  a  dog  tu  belong  tu  me — not  wurth 
a  durn,  an'  orter  been  killed  afore  his  eyes  got  open. 

"  Well,  Stuff-gut  he  follered  me  tu  town  wun  day 
jis'  caze  I  didn't  want  'im  tu  ;  an'  while  I  wur  gittin  on 
a  hed  ove  steam  at  the  doggery,  he  started  roun  town 
on  a  stealin  experdition  ove  his  own,  an'  like  his  cussed 
fool  owner,  got  hissef  inter  a  fust  rate  scrape  an'  skeer> 
without  half  tryin,  an'  in  less  nor  no  time  at  that. 

"  I  hed  gin  myself  a  shake  in  the  doggery,  an'  hear 
the  whisky  in  me  slosh,  I  know'd  I  hed  my  load  aboard, 
so  I  cum  out  intu  the  street,  an1 — the —  fust  thing  I 
seed  he  cum  a  tarin  down  the  street  fifteen  times  faster 
nor  I  thot  he  cud  run,  jis '  a  bowin  ove  hissef,  his  yeais 
sot  flat  ontu  his  neck,  an'  his  bristles  all  sot  like  a  black 
pearch's  top  fin,  his  eyes  shot  up  fast  an'  tite,  and  he 
hed  on  a  sort  ove  haness  made  outer  strings,  sorter  like 
the  set  dad  wore  when  he  acted  hoss,  an'  he  wer  haulin 
ove  an'  old  stage  lantern  and  hit  filled  with  wet  powder, 
an'   sot  afire. 

"  Now  the  sparks,  an'  the  scizlin  an'  the  dust,  an'  the 
ratlin,  an'  the  youlin,  an'  growlin,  an'  barkin,  an'  the 
eighty -nine  ur  ninety  dogs  ove  all  kinds  what  wur  a 
chasin  ove  him,  made  sum  sensashun.  Well — hit — did. 
Whew-w-w  I  When  I  seed  him  pass  without  nowin  me 
I  thot  ove  Dad's  ho'net  tribulashun,  an'  felt  that  thai 


152  but  lovingood's  dog. 

wur  such  a  thing  as  a  tribulashun  at  las' ;  an'  then  I 
got  mad  an'  looked  roun  far  sum  wun  tu  vent  rath  on, 
an'  seed  a  long-legged  cuss,  sorter  ove  the  Lovingood 
stripe,  with  his  hat  cocked  before,  sittin  a  straddil  ove 
a  hoss-rack,  a  swingin  his  legs  an'  a-singin — 

"  Rack,  back  Davy,  rarin  up  behine, 
Tou  show  me  your  foot,  an'  I'll  show  you  mine." 

"  Thinks  I,  yu'll  do,  ef  yu  didn't  start  my  dog  on 
that  hellward  experdition  ove  his'n,  yu'll  do  tu  put  it 
on  enyhow,  so  here  goes.  Sez  I :  '  Mister- what-hed- 
my-dog-dun-tu-yu  ?'  He  pade  no  tention,  but  kep  on 
a-singin — 

"  Rack,  back  Davy,  daddy  shot  a  bar, 
Shot  'em  in  (he  eye,  an'  never  toch  a  har." 

"  I  seed  it  wur  no  use  tryin  tu  breed  a  quarrel ;  so 
that  I  mout  be  able  tu  breed  a  fite,  an'  I  jist  lent  him 
a  slatharin  calamity,  rite  whar  his  nose  commenced  a 
sproutin  from  atween  his  eyes,  wif  a  ruff  rock  about  the 
size  ove  a  goose  aig.  Hit  fotch  'im !  He  drapped  ofen 
the  hoss-rack,  but  hilt  a  squirrel-holt  ontu  the  pole  wif 
his  paws  an'  hine  feet,  an'  hung  back  down.  I  jumped 
hed  fust  through,  atween  his  belly  an'  the  pole ;  my 
heft  broke  his  holt,  an'  we  cum  tu  the  ground  a-fitin — 
me  ondermost,  an'  turn'd  heads  an'  tails. '  So  the  fust 
thing  I  did,  was  tu  shut  my  jaws  ontu  a  mouthful  ove 
his  steak,  ni  ontu  the  place  wher  yer  foot  itches  to  go 
when  yu  ar  in  kickin  distance  ove  a  fop.     He  fit  mitily 


SUT  LOVINGOOD'S  DOG. 

»  Jist  as  he  got  clost  tu  the  carryall,  the  powder  cotch  fire,  an' soon  arterwards  went 
<tf  an'  to  did  he,  head  fust."  Fa^  loS- 


8UT  LOVINGOOD'S  DOG.  153 

far  the  chance  he  had,  but  I  soon  seed  he  had  a  cross 
ove  bar  in  'im,  fur  he  cudn't  stand  ticklin  behind,  ef  it 
mout  be  called  ticklin  at  all ;  for  every  time  he  got  his 
hine  legs  onder  him,  he  tried  his  durndest  tu  jump 
loose ;  but  my  holt  hilt,  an'  we  would  take  our  fust  per- 
sition  agin.  I  thot  ove  a  box  ove  matches  what  I  hed 
in  my  pocket,  so  I  foch  the  whole  boxful  a  rake  ontu 
the  gravil,  an'  stuffed  em  all  a-blazin  inter  one  ove  the 
pockets  in  his  coat-tail.  Now,  mind,  he  now'd  nuthin 
ove  these  perseedins,  fur  his  mind  wur  exercized  pow* 
ful  about  the  hurtin  I  wur  a  helpin  'im  tu  behine.  I 
no'd  he'd  soon  show  strong  signs  ove  wantin  tu  go. 
So  the  fust  big  rare  he  fotch  arter  the  fire  reached  his 
hide,  I  jist  let  my  mouth  fly  open — so — an'  he  went! 
his  hole  tail  in  a  blaze  ! 

"  Rite  here,  boys,  I  must  tell  yu  sumthin  I  didn't  no 
mysef,  ur  durn  me,  ef  I  hedn't  let  him  beat  me  inter  a 
poultis,  afore  I'd  a-sot  him  on  fire — I'd  a-seed  him 
durn'd  fust  The  thot  on  it  skeers  me  yet  He  had 
two  pounds  ove  gunpowder  in  tother  pocket,  a-takin 
home  to  a  shootin  match. 

"  Well,  he  aimed  tu  run  past  a  tin  peddlin  waggin' 
what  was  a-standin  in  the  street,  with  a  fust-rate  set  ove 
old  live  hoss  bones  atween  the  shafts,  while  the  Yankee 
wus  in  the  doggery,  a-firin  up  tu  leave  town.  Jist  as 
he  got  clost  tu  the  carryall,  the  powder  cotch  fire'  an' 
soon  arterwards  went  off,  an'  so  did  he,  head  fust,  frog 
fashion,  rite  thru  the  top  load  ove  tin  war.  He  lit  a 
7* 


154  sut  lovingood's  dog. 

runnin  ten  foot  tuther  side ;  his  coat-tails  wur  blowed 
off  tu  his  shoulders,  the  hine  aind  ove  his  galluses  wus 
raped  round  his  neck,  the  tale  ove  his  shut  wus  loose, 
an,  up  in  the  air  thirty  feet,  still  a-risin  an'  blazin  like  a 
komit ;  his  britches  hung  loose  on  the  frunt  side,  like 
ontu  a  forked  aprun,  while  the  sittin  part  ove  em  wus 
blowed  tu  kingdom  cum,  and  so  wur  everything  else 
belongin  tu  that  regin,  while  his  back  wus  as  black  as 
a  side  ove  upper  lether.  It  rained  tin  buckets,  an' 
strainers,  an'  tin  cups,  an'  pepper  boxes,  an'  pans,  an' 
stage  ho'ns,  all  over  that  street,  fur  two  minits  an'  a  'alf. 

"Now  that  explosion,  an'  the  tin  war  ratlin  an'  a 
lainin,  made  a  rite  peart  noise,  specially  ove  a  still  day 
in  fac,  enuf  tu  wake  up  the  ole  hoss  bones  an'  gin  him 
the  idear  that  he'd  best  leave  town  quick ;  so  he  laid 
his  years  back  an'  straitened  out  his  tail  an'  shot.  He 
made  kindlin-wood  outen  the  waggin  agin  a  sine-post, 
an'  betuck  hissef  tu  the  woods,  stretched  out  about 
twenty  feet  long,  an'  not  mor'n  three  feet  high  on  the 
withers,  with  jis  about  enuf  harness  stickin  tu  him  tu 
make  a  cullar  for  a  bell  cow. 

"  Thar  was  wun  cussed  nutmeg-makin  Yankee  broke 
plum  up,  an'  I'm  durn'd  glad  ove  it.  Old  Back  Back 
Davy,  the  hoss-rack  man,  made  fur  the  river,  an'  I  fol- 
lered  tu  the  bank  tu  see  ef  he  hedn't  drownded  hissef; 
but  no  sir  I  Thar  he  wur,  about  the  middil  ove  the 
river,  a-swimin  fur  tuther  bank,  jist  a  splitin  the  warter 
<vide  open,  an'  his  busted  britches  legs  a-floatin  arter 


sut  lovingood's  dog.  155 

r 

him.  He  looked  over  his  shoulder  every  uther  lick  like 
he  spected  tu  see  the  devil ;  his  face  wur  as  black  as  a 
pot,  sept  a  white  ring  roun  his  eyes,  an'  the  smoke  wur 
still  risin  frum  amung  the  stumps  ove  his  burnt  har. 
His  lied,  boys,  in  that  river,  wus  the  ugliest,  scuriest, 
an'  savidgest  site  I  ever  seed  or  spec  tu  see  in  this 
wurld,  eny  how.  I  dreams  ove  it  yet  o'nights,  an'  it 
skares  the  swet  outen  me.  I  seed  a  lot  ove  fellers  a 
fishin  onder  the  bank,  so  I  thot  I'd  help  him  on  a  leetle 
faster,  an'  I  hollered,  '  ketch  the  murderer,  five  hundred 
dullars  an'  a  big  hoss  reward.  He's  kill'd  an  Wan  an' 
nine  children,  an'  I  speck  a  dog,  an'  like  tu  whipped 
anuther  plum  tu  deth.'  They  jumped  intur  thar  cun- 
oes  an'  tuck  arter  him,  openin  on  his  trail  like  a  pack 
ove  houns.  The  last  I  ever  seed  ove  him,  he  wur  a 
rackin  up  the  tother  bank,  on  his  all-fours,  an'  looked 
]ike  an  ole  bar  what  hed  jist  cum  outen  a  harycane. 

"  He  still  kept  up  his  lookin  back,  an'  I  speck  wus 
the  wust  scared  man  in  the  wurld,  an'  ef  he  aint  ded, 
he's  runnin  yet.  The  idear  now  begin  tu  soak  thru  my 
har  that  owin  to  the  fuss  Stuff-gut  an'  me  hed  raised, 
that  perhaps  Id  better  scoot,  lest  they  mout  want  me% 
So  I  left  in  a  peart  trot,  an'  soon  got  on  ole  Stuff's  trail. 
It  wur  like  a  waggin  hed  been  drug  upside  down  by  a 
par  ove  runaway  muels,  an'  the  dry  grass  an'  leaves, 
an'  in  sum  places  the  fences  wer  sot  afire.  He  tuck  to 
the  mountins,  an'  turn'd  wolf,  an'  tuck  up  the  trade  ove 
sheep-killin  fur  a  livin,  an'  the  hole  settlement  is  now 


156  BUT  LOVINGOOD'S  DOG. 

out  arter  his  skalp.  That  trip  tu  town,  like  the  cuttin- 
box,  hes  changed  his  dispersiticn  agin,  all  showin  the 
pow'ful  changes  that  kin  be  made  in  even  a  dog.  1 
cum  outen  that  scrape  purty  well,  yet  I  hed  tu  show 

the  family  dispersition  tu  make  d d  fools  ove  thar- 

sefs." 
"How,  Sut?" 
"  Why,  I  ought  to  a-toted  off  a  lode  ove  that  permia 
cus  tin  war.     Oughtent  I  ?  say  ! " 


SUT  AT  A  NEGRO  NIGHT-MEETING. 


"Quit  yer  kerd  playin  an'  ritin,  an'  listen  tu  me; 
I'se  swell'd  up  wif  a  tale,  an'  I'll  bust  rite  yere  in  this 
camp  ef  I  don't  git  hit  outen  me.  I  'sisted  wunst  at  a 
nigger  meetin  at  Log  Chapil  camp-groun,  tu  more  pup- 
us  an'  wif  more  pint  than  folks  ginerly  'sists  on  sich 
cashuns." 

"You  assisted?     When?" 

"Yas,  yu  may  whistil,  but  durn  ef  I  didn't.  Aint 
the  word  lite  ?  Ef  a  feller  stands  up  when  anuther's 
a-gittin  tied  tu  an  'oman,  don't  the  noospapers  say  he 
'sisted  ?  Ef  a  wun-hoss  preacher  sits  intu  the  pulpit 
while  a  two-hoss  one  preaches,  don't  they  print  hit  that 
he  'sisted  ?  An'  if  a  big-bug's  wife's  dorg  wer  tu  hold  a 
cow's  tail  in  his  teef  while  she  milk'd,  they'd  say  he 
'sisted.  Well,  ef  'sistance  is  what  the  noospapers  makes 
hit  out  tu  be,  I  'sisted  sum,  durn'd  ef  I  didn't ! 

"  Well,  wun  Sat'd'y  nite,  all  the  he,  an'  mos'  ove  the 
she  niggers  fur  ten  miles  roun,  started  tu  hold  a  big 
meetin.  They  cum  a-foot,  on  hoss's,  on  muels,  on  oxes, 
on  bulls,  on  sleds,  in  carts,  waggins  an'  buggys.     The 


158  SUT   AT  A  NEGKO   NIGHT-MEETING. 

meetin  wer  wuf  ni  ontu  five  hundred  thousin  dullars 
in  flush  times,  an'  yu  cud  a-smelt  hit  a  mile,  afore  1 
begun  tu  'sist,  an'  fifteen  mile  arter  I  'sisted.  An'  the 
nise — well,  when  I  larns  tu  spell  an'  pernounce  the 
flavor  ove  a  ded  hoss,  play  the  shape  ove  a  yeathen 
war-jug  ontu  a  fiddil,  ur  paint  the  swifness  ove  these 
yere  laigs  ontu  a  clap-board,  then  I'll  'scribe  the  nise 
ove  that  meetin,  purticulerly  arter  I  'sisted  awhile. 
'Sumthin  mus  be  lef  tu  the  'maginashun,'  ole  Bullen 
sed,  when  he  wer  givin  in  his  lizzerd  'sperience,  an' 
hit  am  es  true  es  sayin  yas,  when  a  man  axes  yu  ur 
me  ef  we  want  a  ho'n  ove  skin-gut  when  hits  rainin, 
an'  sich  kerryms  on  hesn't  been  seed  since  ole  Tarn 
Shadrick  wer  a-seein  the  witches  a-dansin  thru  the 
ole  chu'ch  winders  what  yu  narrated  tuther  nite.-  I 
b'leves  intu  witches,  ghostez,  an'  all  long-nebbed  things 
mysef,  an'  so  dus  mos'  folks,  but  they's  tu  cowardly  tu 
say  so. 

"  I  wer  in  the  setilment  runnin  a  daily  line,  wif  no 
failures,  atween  Wheeler's  hill-hous'  an'  Kidd's  gro- 
cery, leavin  a  mail  at  ole  Missis  Cruze's  wif  the  gals, 
an'  a-shufflin  roun'  ginerally  twixt  trips  ove  a  nite.  I 
hearn  hit  narrated  that  the  meetin  wer  a-goin  tu  be 
so  I  sot  in  an'  fix'd  mysef  fur  hit,  so  es  tu  be  abil  tu 
'sist  'em  sum. 

"  I  purvided  about  a  dozen  ho'nets'  nestes,  big  soun' 
wuns,  an'  stopped  em  up  full  ove  disapinted,  bewild'red 
'vengeful,  savidge,  oncircumsized  ball  ho'nets,  sharpnin 


BUT  AT   A   NEGRO  NIGHT-MEETING.  159 

thar  stings  redy,  an'  jis'  waitin  hot  an'  willin  fur  the 
holes  tn  be  open'd,  tu  spread  pizin  an'  sweet  hurtin  an' 
swellin  onder  the  skin  ove  everybody.  They  own'd  tu 
no  non-cumbitants  outside  them  ar  nestes. 

"  Then  I  got  Doctur  Stone,  hu  wer  fond  uv  seein  fan, 
tu  fill  a  big  passel  ove  beef-bladders  wif  sum  kind  ove  a'r 
ur  gas — he  call'd  hit  ox-gin,  ur  steer- gin,  ur  sum  kind 
ove  cattil  drink,  an'  I  hes  furgot  plum  hits  cristen 
name. 

"Perhaps   it  was  carbureted  hydrogen." 

"  Durn  my  ole  galluses,  an'  buttuns  tu,  ef  that  warn't 
adzackly  hit.  Hu  tole  yu?  say  George?  Did  yu 
smell  hit?" 

"Oh,  often." 

"Well,  by  golly,  that  counts  fur  that  shriveled  up 
nose  ove  yourn,  an'  yer  cussed  ill  temper.  George,  I 
furgives  yu  fur  every  cussin  yu's  ever  sprinkled  ontu 
me.  No  man  shu'd  be  hilt  sponsibil  fur  his  acts  arter 
a  sniff  at  that  ar  devil's  own  parfume ;  hit  am  the  super 
latif  ove  the  yeath ;  yu  kin  see,  feel,  an'  taste  hit  six 
weeks  arter  hit  hes  et  up  yure  power  ove  smellin  altu- 
gether.  I  hilt  a  bladder  uv  hit  tu  a  bull's  nose,  tu  see 
ef  he  wer  a  jedge  ove  perfumery.  He  jis'  histed  his 
tail,  like  tu  hev  snorted  his  brains  out  at  wun  snort,  an 
jis'  kill'd  hissef  a-runnin,  a-pawin  at  his  snout  wif  his 
fore-laigs  like  he  wer  a-tryin  tu  scrape  off  a  bull 
tarrier.  Twer  the  bes  thing  he  cud  do,  wer  tu  die  jis' 
then, 


160  SUT  AT  A  NEGBO  NIGHT-MEETING. 

"  I  fix't  my  'sortment  ove  stink  skins  onder  the  long 
seat  ove  the  pulpit  in  the  chu'ch,  wif  slip  nots  ontu  the 
necks,  so  that  pullin  wun  string  ontied  all  ove  em,  an' 
let  down  a  big  slab  tn  squeese  em  flat.  I  planted  mj 
ball  ho'nets  colonys  onder  the  bainches  amung  the 
straw  onder  the  big  shed  what  jined  the  chu'ch,  an 
wun  peculuer  an'  chosen  nestes  I  laid  away  onder  the 
exhortin  box,  ur  shed  pulpit.  All  on  em  hed  strings 
so  I  cud  open  em  at  wunst  frum  the  thickets,  when 
I  thort  hit  time  tu  take  sich  a  sponsabil  step.  They 
hed  hawl'd  straw  untill  hit  cum  up  ni  ontu  levil  wif 
h  e  tops  ove  the  bainches,  tu  git  happy  in,  an'  du  thar 
huggin  an'  wallerin  on ;  hit  hid  the  inemy  what  I  hed 
ambush'd  thar  fus'rate,  an'  arterwards  wer  put  tu  a 
diffrent  use  than  gittin  happy  on,  I'll  swar  tu  that 
fac'. 

"Well,  nite  cum,  an'  fotch  wif  hit  the  mos  pufick 
'sortment  ove  niggers  yu  ever  seed  outen  Orleans  ur 
Tophett,  a  big  pine  torch-lite  at  ni  ontu  every  uther 
tree  roun  the  shed,  an'  taller  candils  intu  the  chu'ch 
hous  whar  they  cumenc'd  thar  wurk ;  but  I'm  sistimat- 
ikally  durn'd  if  they  finished  hit  thar ;  not  by  a  sirkil 
ove  five  mile. 

"A  pimpil-face,  greasy-collar'd,  limber-mouf d suckit 
rider  drap't  ofen  a  fat  hoss,  an'  sot  in  tu  sorter  startin 
the  nigger  brethrin  in  the  rite  track.  He  warn't  fur 
frum  bein  a  nat'ral  born  durn'd  fool  hissef,  fur  I  seed 
him  peep  onder  the  seat  es  he  sot  down  in  the  pulpit, 


BUT  AT  A  NEGEO  NIGHT-MEETING.  161 

whar  he  seed  the  bulge  ove  win  ove  the  bladders,  stick- 
in  out  frum  onder  the  slab  a  littil.  He  licked  his  lips, 
then  smak't  em,  an'  wink'd  a  oily  sort  ove  wink  at  a 
Baptis'  nigger  preacher,  what  sot  by  him,  an'  he  show'd 
all  ove  his  teef  arter  he'd  tuck  a  peep,  an'  swaller'd  like 
he  wer  gittin  down  a  ho'n.  They  wer  bof  on  em  show- 
in  thar  instinks :  the  suckit  rider  tuck  hit  tu  be  the 
breast  ove  a  fat  roas  hen,  an'  the  Baptis'  thot  hit  wer 
the  bulge  ove  a  jug.  Shapes,  George,  can't  be  'pended 
upon,  taste  am  the  thing. 

"Well,  the  pot-gutted,  ball-heded  Baptis'  bull  nig- 
ger, what  wer  fool'd  on  the  jug  question,  sot  his  specks 
an'  tuck  a  tex ;  hit  wer : 

"  Yu  shall  smell  sweet-smellin  yarbs,  avJ  eat  honey  vittils 
dar,  fur  thars  no  stink,  nur  bitter,  whar  you's  gwine,  in 
Caneyan. 

"He  wer  jis'  in  the  middil  ove  the  sweet-smellin 
yarb  part,  a-citin  ove  poseys,  sinamint  draps,  fried  ba- 
con, an'  the  scent  ove  the  cupboard,  as  good  yeathly 
smells,  a-gittin  hot,  an'  a-breakin  a  holesum  sweat, 
when  a  ole  she  shouted — 

"  '  Oh,  bress  hebin  !  I  smell  him  now.' 

"  As  she  smack't  her  han's,  I  pull'd  the  string.  The 
stinkabus  begun  tu  roll  an'  rise,  an'  spread.  Oh  my 
lordy !  lordy  !  Pimple-face  wall'd  up  his  eye  s,  coff'd 
blow'd  his  nose  in  his  hankecher,  an'  sorter  looked  be- 
hme  the  preacher,  like  he  'spected  tu  see  a  buzzard,  or 
an'  onbelever,  or  sich  like,  atween  him  an'  the  wall. 


• 


162  SUT  AT- A  NEGRO   NIGHT-MEETING. 

"  The  nigger  stop't  as  short  as  ef  he'd  been  shot,  rite 
in  the  middil  ove  the  wurd  '  Canejan,'  histed  the  pint 
ove  his  snout  up  atween  his  ejes,  turn'd  his  upper  lip 
inside  out,  throw'd  his  head  back,  an'  scented  slowly 
all  roun.  I  hes  seed  ole  stsers  du  hit  adzackly  the  same 
way.  He  shook  his  hed  till  his  years  slapt  like  a  hog's 
when  he's  a-gittin  mad,  an'  his  specks  lit  in  the  straw  ; 
then  he  scented  roun'  agin. 

"  By  this  time  bout  two  hundred  miserlanus  niggers 
wer  a-sayin  Hu-uu  thru  thai*  snouts,  wif  thar  moufs 
shot;  'bout  half  es  meny  a-coffin,  a  few  sickly  wuns 
tryin  not  tu  vomit,  an'  wun  skaley  heel'd  he  wer  a-stuf- 
fin  two  corn-cob  pints  intu  his  nose,  an'  a  saft  wool  hat 
intu  his  mouf.  Sum  ten  ur  fifteen  said  '  Oh,  lor  a 
massy!  what  dat?'  Wun  ole  feller  wif  meal  on  his 
wool,  'lowed  sum  fat  brudder  dun  bust  hissef,  an'  am 
leakin  out  the  cabbage.  Better  'tire  tu  de  woods,  git 
sow' up,  an'  den  stay  dar.'  One  ventered  'pole-cat;' 
anuther,  '  twenty  pole-cat ; '  '  an'  a  dorg  a-stirrin  em,' 
added  anuther ;  '  ded  hoss,'  sed  a  big  he,  wif  a  hoarse 
cold ;  '  spild  crout,'  squeak't  a  she ;  '  buzzard's  nes' ; 
frum  a  back  bainch;  'rotten  aigs  an'  a  heap  on  em, 
grunted  a  ole  mammy  wif  a  belly  like  a  dinner-pot,  an' 
a  wool  mitten  in  her  mouf ;  '  wus  nur  dat,  by  golly,' 
snorted  a  dandy  nigger,  a-holdin  his  snout ;  'burnt 
leder,'  frum  a  fool  gal ;  'burnt  brimstone,'  frum  a  boy ; 
'  maggoty  soap  grease,'  guess'd  two  or  three ;  '  all  dem 
tings  mix.  an'  a-bilin,  dafs  hit]  said  a  knowin-lookin 


BUT  A  AT  NEGRO  NICHT-MEETING.  163 

bow-laiged  buck;  'de  cumin  ob  de  debil,'  surjisted  a 
ole  she,  a-pullin  her  aprun  over  her  hed.  '  Kedy,  heah, 
mum?'  answered  her  darter.  'Meetin  dun  busted,' 
said  one;  'hope  I  neber  smell  nuder  bust,'  said  anuth- 
er.  'Less  git  outen  heah,'  said  ten,  while  swarms  ove 
em  wer  aready  at  hit 

"  The  passun  nigger  now  holler 'd,  '  Sea  heah,  brud- 
ren  an'  sistren ;  sum  fool  niggah  cum  trou  de  back  ob 
de  gardin,  an'  sile  he  foot,  on  he  way  heah ;  let  'im  make 
hesef  scase,  an'  take  he  shoe  wid  'im,  fur  he  'noxshus 
tu  dis  chosen  congregashun,  he  am.'  '  Sh-u-u-u  tree 
hunder  git  sile  in  dat  gardin  on  bof  foot,  shuah  yu 
born,'  added  a  chicken  stealin  yung  he,  wif  feathers 
then  in  his  wool. 

"  Here  the  passun's  feelins  overcum  him,  an'  he  cum- 
menced  a-yerkin  like  he'd  swaller'd  a  hame  string,  an' 
the  knot  hed  stuck  in  his  froat. 

"  '  Preachin  frum  that  fool  tex  what  done  hit,'  growl'd 
a  ole  daddy  wif  wun  toof,  as  he  hobbled  apas  the  pas- 
son  a-rubbin  his  sleeve  onder  his  nose  like  he  wer 
sawin  wood,  an'  a  snortin  like  a  hoss  atween  every  rub. 

" '  Missus  kill  me  shuah  yu  lib,  ef  I  totes  dis  stink 
home  wid  me.  Hu  got  eny  sinamint  draps?'  said  a 
trim-lookin  cook. 

" '  Sum  ob  de  sistren  am  dun  faint,  holler'd  a  bow- 
laiged,  bladder-lipped  he,  a-rushin  thru  the  crowd  wif  a 
gourd   ove  warter. 

" '  Bress  de  Lord,  dey'se  rite  tu  faint,  dey  no  smel] 
bim  now,'  said  a  knowin  ole  darky. 


164  SUT  AT  A  NEGKO  NIGHT-MEETING. 

"  '  This  am  more  disagreabil  than  whisky  an'  inyuns' 
said  Pimple-face,  tu  me. 

"  '  Yas,  perticulerly  the  inyuns,'  sez  I. 

"  He  looked  at  me  like  he  wer  sorry  far  me,  an'  wud 
es  leve  pray  fur  me  es  not,  an'  went  an'  dipt  his  hed  in 
the  branch. 

"By  this  time  the  chu'ch  wer  empty,  'sceptin  the 
stink,  an'  hit  wer  everywhar,  oozin  thru  the  shingles 
like  smoke.  The  candils  burnt  dim  like  thar  wer  a 
fog  in  the  hous',  an'  hit  wer  onhelthy  tu  preach  in  till 
fros',  an'  thar  aint  a  nigger  in  that  settilment  what  kin 
tell  the  smell  ove  a  scent  bottil  frum  a  barril  ove  rot- 
ten fish  tu  this  day.  They'd  be  pow'ful  good  stock  tu 
wurk  in  a  soap  factory.  Don't  yu  speck  they  wud  ? 
The  soggy  an'  muddy  heded  wans  hilt  a  pow-wow,  an' 
narrated  hit  that  in  spite  '  ob  de  ole  sarpint  de  debil  an' 
he  stink  in  he  hous,'  they  ment  tu  tote  on  the  meetin 
tu  a  shoutin  aind,  onder  the  shed.  So  they  shot  up 
the  door  an'  winder  shutters  ove  the  chu'ch,  an'  as  the 
wind  hed  sorter  ris,  the  outside  smells  warn't  much 
wus  nor  yu  ginerally  smell  et  pork-killin  houses,  ur 
camp  meetins.  This  war  the  wust  'elusion  ever  a  mess 
ove  niggers  did  cum  tu,  since  ole  Shadwick's  darkys  on- 
dertuck  tu  make  white  folks  outen  tharsefs  by  paintin 
thar  cackuses  wif  onslack't  lime.  Ole  Shadwick  geth- 
ered  enuff  wool  tu  pay  thar  doctur's  bills. 

"  Well,  they  blow'd  a  ho'n,  an'  '  Pimple  face '  tuck 
the  crank  ove  the  '  make  happy  cum '  mersheen,  es  all 


SOT  AT  A  NEGRO   NIGHT-MEETTNG.  165 

the  preackin  an'  grace  hed  been  plum  stunk  outen  his 
culler'd  bruther.  The  sistren  mos  on  em  got  ni  ontu  the 
pulpit,  whar  the  straw  wer  deepest  wif  sich  ove  the  he's 
es  hed  a  appertite  tu  help  du  the  huggin  an'  wallerin. 
'Pimpil-face,'  blow'd  his  nose,  flung  his  hanketcher 
across  the  pulpit,  an'  sed  '  hit  wer  all  fur  the  bes'  that 
they  wer  druv  frum  the  hous' ;  grace  allers  spread  hit- 
sef  better  an'  smoofer,  outen  doors  then  hit  did  in  the 
hous'.  Tu  git  happy  good,  yu  mus,  hev  elbow-room 
an'  straw ;  these  cundishuns  wer  fill'd,  an'  he'd  be  dis- 
apinted  ef  that  wurn't  a  warm  activ  meetin.'  Thinks 
I,  wif  me  to  '  'sist,'  ef  hit  aint  all  ytl's  sed,  an'  more  tu, 
I'se  no  jedge  ove  the  nater  ove  ball  ho'nets,  an'  the 
power  ove  stimiluses. 

"  He  sed,  arter  he'd  dun  preackin,  he  ment  tu  pass 
roun'  a  small  hat,  tu  git  sum  means  tu  buy  flannin  pet- 
ticoats wif,  fur  the  freezin  sistren  in  Africa.  Ef  ever 
he  'pass'd  a  hat'  hit  warn't  at  Log  Chappil,  'sceptin 
what  loose  wuns  he  pass'd  a  runnin  outen  thar ;  I '  sis- 
ted   in  spilin  wun  coleckshun,  I'm  durn'd  ef  I  didn't 

"  He  tuck  a  tex :  Thar  shall  be  loeepin  an1  railin  an1 
chompin  ove  teef,  bad,  ari1  then  ivif  no  teef,  shall  smash  thar 
gums  tugether  like  ontu  tool/  traps.  Sez  I  tu  mysef, 
that's  hit,  that  is  hit,  dorg  on  me  ef  yu  haint  draw'd  the 
rite  kerd  this  pop,  fur  I  know'd  I  wer  'sistin '  ove  him. 

"  He  sot  in  in  yeanest,  ontied  his  choke-string,  then 
shucked  his  coat,  nex  his  jackid.  He  play'd  pow'ful 
bad,  didn't  he?  fur  me  tu  hole  the  'sisten    han',  fui 


166  StfT  AT  A  NEGRO  NIGHT-MEETING. 

shuckin  hissef  didn't  fortify  again  my  ho'nets  much, 
hit  didn't.  About  the  time  he  drapt  his  jackid,  an'  wer 
a-tryin  tu  jump  outen  his  trowsis  wifout  onbuttunin  em, 
the  niggers  wer  a-mixin,  he  an'  she,  hollerin  an'  beginin 
tu  hug,  an'  rar,  an'  waller,  rite  peart,  an'  nat'ral  like, 
the  dus,  an'  the  same  ole  stink,  wif  the  sweat  variashun 
a-risin  agin.  "Wun  ole  she  fotch  her  fat  han's  a  slap 
like  killin  flies,  an'  she  squall'd  '  gloree,'  an'  her  mouf 
look't  like  the  muzzil  ove  a  boot,  wif  red  linin. 

"  Thinks  I,  jis'  now  is  es  good  a  time  es  eny ;  the  pat- 
rollers  mite  cum  in  an'  spile  hit  wif  thar  durn'd  foolish- 
ness ;  so  I  jis'  draw'd  the  strings  keerfully.  The  fust 
fruit  ove  that  ac',  what  I  notised,  wer  ontu  Pimple-face 
hissef.  I  seed  him  fotch  hissef  a  lick  a-side  the  hed 
what  stagger'd  him,  then  he  hit  hissef  wif  bof  han's 
ontu  the  place  whar  they  brands  Freemasons  an'  mus- 
tangs, an'  he  shot  his  belly  forwards  an'  his  shoulders 
back'ards,  like  ontu  a  'oman  shettin  the  nex'  tu  the 
top  drawer  ove  a  beauro ;  an'  he  cum  outen  that  pulpit 
back'ards  a-tarin,  his  hans  a-flyin  roun  his  hed  like  a 
par  ove  windin  blades.  I  thort  he  hed  eitey  fingers  an 
twenty  thumbs.  He  embraced  a  bruther,  back-holts, 
what  wer  a-tryin  tu  roll  off  the  hurtin  in  the  straw,  an' 
they  jis'  kick'd  an'  roll'd  on  in  cahoote. 

"  Thar  wer  lots  ove  niggers,  mix'd  heads  an'  tails  in 
that  orful  straw-pile — heds,  laigs,  arms,  feet,  ainds  ove 
bainches,  bunches  ove  straw  an'  strings  ove  dartin  ho'- 
nets a-showin  tharsefs  a-top  fur  a  moment ;  then  sum 


SUT  AT  A  NEGRO  NIGHT-MEETING.  167 

uther  things  wud  cum  upermos'.  Hit  looked  like  for- 
ty-eight cords  ove  black  cats  a-ntin,  wif  tupentine  a 
soakin  in  roun  the  roots  ove  all  thar  tails. 

"  Sich  nises — screechin  like  painters,  cryin,  hollerin, 
a  few  a-cussin,  an'  more  a-jinin  em,  beggin,  prayin, 
groanin,  gruntin,  nickerin,  an'  wun  or  two  fool  wuns 
singin.  Ho'nets  don't  keer  a  dura  fur  music,  when 
they's  a-fitin,  while  abuv  em  a-flyin  in  the  ar,  jis'  like 
they  weighed  nuthin,  wer  a  desirabil  'sortmint  ove 
hyme  books,  fans,  hanketchers,  hats,  caps,  umerellers, 
walkin-sticks,  biskits,  chicken-laigs,  strings  ove  beads, 
Gouber  peas,  year-rings,  ginger-cakes,,  collars,  garters, 
babies,  terbacker-pipes,  ridicules,  littil  baskits,  popco'n, 
scent  bottils,  ribbons,  hollyhawk  bokays,  pint  ticklers, 
bits  ove  straw,  an'  wun  shiff — how  she  got  outen  hit 
wifout  takin  off  her  frock,  I  be  dum'd  ef  I  ken  tell ;  but 
thar  hit  wer  a-sailin  roun  wif  a  deck-load  ove  ho'nets 
ontu  hit  what  wer  the  resarve  I  reckon.  All  this  wer 
set  off  tu  advantige  by  dus',  an'  millions  ove  insex,  jis' 
a-hoverin  over  the  sufferers  an'  then  divin  down  fur  a 
sting. 

"  Now,  while  this  wer  gwine  on  onder  the  shed,  nig- 
gers wer  a-shootin  intu  the  woods  in  all  direckshuns, 
like  ontu  arrers  shot  frum  orful  bows,  an'  every  durn'd 
nigger  hed  a  brigade  ove  insex  roun  his  hed,  tellin  him 
tu  hurry  an'  makin  him  du  hit  too,  fur  they  went  crash- 
in  outen  site  intu  the  brush  like  canyun  shots. 

"  Now,  I  thinks  the  ho'nets  hed  boun  tharsefs  wii  a 


168  SUT  AT  A  NEGRO  NIGHT-MEETING. 

oath,  while  they  wer  shot  up  in  thar  nestes,  tu  fite  fur« 
ever  every  livin  thing  they  met,  from  the  way  they 
actid.  Fur  them  what  follered  the  niggers  intu  the 
woods  foun'  the  hosses,  muels,  an'  oxes,  tied  out  thar, 
an'  part  ove  em  fastened  ontu  the  beastes,  an'  they  im- 
mejuntly  sot  in  tu  imitatinthe  niggers  in  aetin  dam  fool; 
they  jis'  broke  loose,  rar'd,  kick'd,  fell  down,  roll'd 
over,  run  away,  bawl'd,  beller'd,  nicker'd,  screem'd, 
an'  bray'd,  till  they  farly  shuck  the  leaves  ontu  the 
trees. 

"  Wun  yoke  ove  steers  wif  a  big  sled  cum  tarin  heds 
down,  an'  tails  strait  up,  rite  thru  the  shed,  an'  I  think 
they  mus  hev  swep'  out  ni  ontu  thuty  niggers,  big  an' 
littil,  an'  a  few  bainches,  intu  the  woods  wif  em,  a-stick- 
in  ontu  thar  ho'ns,  ontu  the  yoke,  on  thar  backs,  an'  on 
the  stakes  ove  the  sled.  Yere  cum  a  big  gray  hoss, 
like  a  streak,  draggin  a  buggy  ontu  hits  side  wif  the 
top  up.  His  eyes  wer  red,  an'  his  years  laid  back ;  he 
scoop'd  up  his  buggy  plum  full,  an'  jis'  kep  on.  I  ob- 
sarved  Pimpil-face  tangled  up  in  the  runnin  gear,  an' 
true  tu  the  suckit  rider's  instink,  he  wer  climbin  pow- 
ful  fur  a  inside  seat.  He  run  a-pas'  a  postes  what  hed 
aole  tin  pan  atop  ove  hit  full  ove  rich  pine  knots  a 
burnin :  he  scoop'd  that  in  amung  his  cargo  ove  nig- 
gers tu  warm  em  on  thar  thorny  way,  an'  then  he  jis' 
run  by  the  lite  ove  hit.  Thar  went  a  big  grizly  muel, 
wif  a  side  saddil  way  back  ontu  his  rump,  an'  half  a 
peach  tree   fas'  tu  his  bridil ;  he  gobbled   up  two  ur 


SUT  AT  A  NEGEO   NIGHT-MEETTNG.  169 

three  littil  niggers  in  the  tree-top,  an'  tuck  em  outen 
the  trubbil. 

"  Wun  long  laiged  nigger  busted  outen  the  bunch  what 
wer  down  in  the  straw,  hollerin  '  whoosh  !  Oh  gorami- 
ty!  hit  hurts  till  he  feel  sorter  good,'  an'  tuck  a  rush 
skull  fus'  agin  a  weatherboarded  camp,  busted  thru  hit 
like  hit  wer  a  aig  shell,  an'  out  at  tuther  side  thru  a 
winder,  a-totin  the  sash  wif  him  roun  his  neck  like  a 
collar,  an'  his  wool  full  ove  plank  splinters,  broken 
glass,  an'  tangled  ball  ho'nets.  I  likes  that  nigger :  he's 
the  only  feller  I  ever  seed  what  tuck  in  the  rale  pure 
Lovingood  idear  ove  what  orter  be  dun  onder  strong 
hurtin  an'  a  big  skeer.  Jis  run  over  ur  thru  everthing 
yure  durndest,  till  yu  gits  cumfort,  that's  hit. 

"A  hames-laiged  spur-heel'd  wun  tuck  up  a  white 
oak,  sayin  '  whoosh ! '  outen  his  nose  every  yerk  he 
made,  an'  nndin  no  pease  ove  mine  up  thar,  tuck  down 
agin  hed  fus',  squirrel  fashion,  an'  run  onder  the  chu'ch 
ontu  his  all  fours,  sum  ho'nets  makin  the  same  trip  on 
the  same  skedule. 

"  Wun  big  she  run  her  hed  onder  a  lean  gal's  coat- 
tail  tu  save  her  years,  but  a  few  activ  ball  ho'nets  what 
wer  a  scoutin  in  her  rar,  made  her  git  up  blinefol'  wif 
the  gal  'stradil  her  neck,  her  long  black  snake  laigs 
stickin  strait  out  ahead,  an'  she  a-holdin  on  tu  the  fat 
wun's  wool  thru  the  dress  wif  wun  han,  an'  a  ntin  ho'nets 
wif  a  hat  in  tuther,  her  hed  throw'd  back,  an'  a  yowlin 
like  a  scalded  houn.  '  Fatty '  run  her  derndest,  not  seein 
8 


170  SUT  AT   A  NEGEO  NIGHT-MEETING. 

ur  keerin  wliar  slie  went,  down  hill  kerslunge  intu  the 
branch,  an'  like  tu  drownded  bof  ove  em,  an'  sum  ho'' 
nets  too. 

"Wun  slim  buck  nigger  shot  rat-like  intu  a  littil  jug 
closet,  onder  the  pulpit,  swell'd  up  in  thar  ontil  they 
hed  tu  tar  up  the  floor  nex  day  tu  git  him  out.  He  tuck 
in  wif  him  about  forty  ho'nets,  an'  they  helpt  him  tu 
be  cumfortabil  in  thar ;  I  knows  they  did  frum  thar 
nater  an'  what  he  sed  in  his  hole. 

uJis'  bout  this  time  I  foun'  out  how  that  gal  got 
outen  her  shiif,  fur  I  seed  sumthin  dispersin  hitssef  in- 
tu the  woods,  an'  frum  the  glimpse  I  got  hit  look'd  sor- 
ter like  a  black  munkey  shaved  wif  white  hine  laigs ; 
hit  wer  that  tormented  gal  in  white  stockins.  The 
thing  wer  pufeckly  plain,  she  hed  jis'  run  outen  her 
dress  an'  shiif  at  the  same  time.  That's  what  cums 
ove  bein  a  plum  natral  born'd  durn  fool ;  yu'd  hev  onder- 
stood  how  she  got  outen  hit,  without  eny  studyin  at  all. 

"  Now  I'se  only  narrated  the  main  pints,  an'  hits 
tuck  me  a  good  spell.  But  in  three  minits  an'  a  'alf 
arter  I  finish'd  my  'sistin  ove  em  by  pullin  them  ar 
strings,  hit  wer  all  over,  scept  the  swellin,  hurtin,  an' 
gittin  home.  Thar  warn't  even  a  dorg  lef  on  that  camp- 
groun',  an'  yu  cud  hear  nuflin  but  the  humin  ove  the 
huntin  ho'nets,  an'  the  distunt  nise  ove  scatterin  nig- 
gers, ur  uther  beastez  still  gwine  furder  frum  that  place 
ove  torment,  an'  general  discumfort. 

"  People  wer  huntin  thar  niggers  thru  the  county  fur 


SOT  AT  A  NEGRO    NIGHT-MEETING.  171 

a  week,  an'  sumtimes  when  they  foun  em,  didn't  know 
em,  they'd  fatten'd  so.  Dreadful !  warn't  hit  ?  Thai 
haint  been  a  nigger  nite  meetin  hilt  in  the  county  since, 
an'  they's  mos'  on  em  becum  pius,  an'  morril. 

"  Jis'  pullin  a  string  wer  my  hole  sheer  in  all  that 
ar  cumbustiiikashun,  hurtin,  an'  trubbil ;  yet  as  usual 
every  body  sez  I'se  tu  blame  fur  the  hole  ove  hit  Yu 
know  that  every  time  a  ho'net  shoots  a  nigger,  hit  makes 
a  white  spot  that's  the  center  ove  the  imejut  hurtin,  an' 
ove  corse  mos'  ove  em  looked  like  ontu  secon'  mournin 
calliker,  an'  the  durn'd  fool  white  folks  roun'  thar,  thot 
hit  wer  the  small  pox,  an'  that  I  hed  gin  hit  tu  the  nig- 
gers,  so  they  sot  in  tu  huntin  fur  me,  wif  shot  guns  an 
dorgs,  but  du  yu  see  these  yere  laigs  ?  they  toted  me  out 
enthar  safe  an'  soun. 

"I  can't  gitjestis  nowhar,  fur  nuthin  I  du.  I'l,  turn 
buzzard,  an'  eat  ded  hosses  fur  a  livin ;  I  'b'leve  theyse 
not  blam'd  fur  enything  much,  only  thar  stink,  an'  as  I 
hes  got  that  aready  es  good  es  the  olest  buzzard  ontu 
the  roos',  that  makes  no  differ." 

"Well,  Sut,"  said  I,  "  I  think  I  understand  fully  now 
what  ' assisting'1  at  a  meetin  means." 

Sut  eyed  me  for  a   moment  suspiciously,  and  said 

dryiy— 

"  I  speck  yu  dus." 


SUT  LOVINGOOD'S  SERMON. 

Ttl/CHING    YE     CAT-FISHE     TAVERN". 


I  say,  George,  every  critter  what  lies  ever  seed  me,  ef 
they  hes  aence  emiff  tu  hide  frum  a  cummin  kalamity, 
ur  run  frum  a  muskit,  jis'  knows  five  great  facks  in  my 
case  es  well  es  they  knows  the  road  tu  thar  moufs. 
\Fustly,  that  I  haint  got  nara  a  soul,  nufiin  but  a  whisky 
Iproof  gizzard,  sorter  like  the  wust  half  ove  a  ole  par 
•ove  saddil  bags.  Seconly,  that  I'se  too  durn'd  a  fool  tu 
cum  even  onder  millertary  lor.  Thudly,  that  I  hes  the 
longes'  par  ove  laigs  ever  hung  tu  eny  cackus,  'sceptin 
only  ove  a  grandaddy  spider,  an'  kin  beat  him  a  usen 
ove  em  jis'  es  bad  es  a  skeer'd  dorg  kin  beat  a  crippled 
mud  turkil.  Foufly,  that  I  kin  chamber  more  cork- 
screw, kill-devil  whisky,  an'  stay  on  aind,  than  eny- 
thing  'sceptin  only  a  broad  bottum'd  chun.  Fivety,  an' 
las'ly,  kin  git  intu  more  durn'd  misfortnit  skeery  scrapes, 
than  enybody,  an'  then  run  outen  them  faster,  by  golly, 
nor  enybody. 

"Well  now,  ef  these  five  pow'ful  strong  pints  ove 
karactar  don't  gin  me  the  right  tu  preach  ef  I  wants  tu 


sut  lovingood's  sermon.  173 

I  wild  like  tu  know  whar  sum  preachers  got  thar  pa- 
pers frum.  I  means  tu  wade  intu  the  bisiness  es  deep 
es  wun  sermon,  on  the  free  will  plan  enyhow,  leavin 
out  the  singin  an'  totin  roun  the  hat.  Listen  tu  me, 
fur  I'se  in  yearnis  'bout  this  thing.  Ef  yu  hes  a  par 
ove  burnin-glass  specks,  an'  hit  am  a  clar  day,  yu  may 
fine  my  texis  jis'  inside,  ur  jis'  outside,  (I'se  furgot 
which,)  ove  Longfeller's  injun  tale,  an'  hit  reads  'bout 
so  : 

"  Stop  not  tu  res'  whar  thar  am  a  sign,  fur  thar  aint 
res'  onder  hits  shadder.  Neither  eat  wif  a  Ian1  lord  fur 
he's  yer  foe.  But  gird  up  yer  coteail,  an'  marvil  furder, 
leas'  yu  lose  yer  soul  a-cussin,  an'  hev  yer  paunch  et  in- 
tu a  partridge  net  wif  pisen.  Keep  the  dus'  ove  the  dining 
room  ofen  yer  foot,  an'  the  smell  ove  the  bed-room  ofen  yer 
close,  that  yer  days  may  be  longer  in  the  Ian'  what  yer 
daddy's  tuck  frum  the  Injuns. ' 

"  Feller  suflrers,  he  an'  she  :  The  shakin  an'  jumblin 
ove  this  yere  war  ove  ourn,  hes  fotch  up  tu  the  top  ove 
the  groun  a  new  kine  ove  pisonus  reptile,  which  far 
durty  ways,  an'  short  turns,  kin  jis'  beat  the  bes'  cross 
atwix'  a  buzzard  an'  a  wolf  yu  ever  seed,  es  soon  es  he 
bores  his  way  outen  the  yeath  what  hatch'd  im,  an' 
whar  he  orter  be  yet.  He  gits  him  a  long  house,  prints 
ontu  the  frunt  ove  hit  sum  ketchin  name,  tu  tote  in  the 
hongry  an'  onwary,  an'  the  dam  fools  ginerally,  calls 
hissef  the  '  Perpryiter,'  an'  yu  mustn't  call  'im  enything 
else,  fur  efju  dus,  yu'd  better  gird  up  yer  coteails  an 


174  sut  lovtngood's  seemon. 

marvil  furder,  an'  marvil  faster,  fur  his  boot  hes  a  pow- 
ful  strong  swing,  a  pow'ful  long  swing,  an'  a  pow'ful 
quick  swing.  He  is  now  perpar'd  tu  starve,  'suit,  swin- 
dil,  be-dirty,  be-devil,  an'  turn  inside  out  the  puss, 
pockid  an'  stumick  ove  every  misfortnit  hungry  tired 
devil,  what  am  wayfarin  on  fun,  bisness,  ur  frum  a 
skeer.  He  an'  she,  ole  an'  young  citerzen,  ur  soger, 
he  sucks  em  all  out  es  dry  es  a  spider  dus  a  hoss-fly, 
an'  turns  em  out  tu  thar  wayfarin  agin,  while  he  looks 
'zaminly  arter  em  wif  his  fis'  full  ove  thar  shinplasters, 
then  he  wipes  his  horny  bill  ontu  the  door  jam  like 
ontu  a  hen  arter  she  hes  swaller'd  a  toad,  an'  waits  fur 
the  nex'  hoss-fly.  Oh !  keep  the  dus'  ove  his  dinin- 
room  ofen  yer  foot,  an'  the  smell  ove  his  bed-room 
ofen  yer  close,  that  yer  days  may  be  longer  in  the  Ian' 
what  yer  daddy's  tuck  frum  the  Injuns. 

"The  Perpryiter's  suckshun  am  strong:  he  cud 
suck  a  anvil,  (if  hit  wer  gold,)  down  his  froat,  frum 
wun  aind  ove  Cumberland  tunnil  tu  tuther,  an'  thar's 
no  lor  ove  anybody's  make,  nur  the  squire's  make,  nur 
the  ginerals'  make,  what  kin  weakin  that  suckshun  a 
mossel,  ur  make  a  mark  ontu  his  shell ;  lor  jis'  rolls 
ofen  his  back  like  draps  ove  warter  ofen  a  duck  or  mal- 
lard, an'  suffrin  rolls  ofen  his  casiron  conshuns  still  a 
littil  faster.  I  seed  a  thread-bar,  faded,  cryin  sojer's 
widder,  wif  a  skiliton  dogratipe  ove  hits  graveless  fath- 
er in  her  arms,  a-tuggin  at  a  dry  bladder,  what  hed 
oust  been  a  'oman's  breast,  a-reachin  pow'ful  arter  his 


sut  lovingood's  sermon.  175 

conshuns  wif  a  argymint  es  long  es  a  fishin  pole,  an' 
pinted  wif  a  lancit.  Hit  wer  in  few  words,  but  every 
one  ove  em  wer  red,  sparklin  hot  frum  a  burnin  heart. 
'  Fur  the  sake  of  this  fatherless  infant,  don't  turn  me 
away !  Here's  the  last  dollar  ove  the  last  eleven  my 
husband  lived  to  draw ;  yu  are  most  welcome  to  it. 
Give  me  but  a  cold  mouthful,  we  are  starving,  and 
oh  I  look,  sir,  the  rain  has  turned  to  sleet.  Her  blue 
lips  quiver'd,  an'  the  rain  draps  ofen  her  bunnit,  an' 
the  tear  draps  outen  her  modes'  hopeless  eyes,  splashed 
tugether  ofen  the  littil  dogratipe's  cheek,  hot  an'  cold 
tugether,  an'  hit  hedn't  life  enuf  lef  tu  skringe.  He 
looked  down  at  her  es  cold  es  the  no'th  side  ove  Lock- 
out Mountin  in  January,  an'  tole  her  wifout  payin  a 
full  bill  in  advance,  she  coudn't  stay ;  an'  he  read  a 
rule  ofen  the  wall,  '  pussons  travelin  wifout  eny  bag- 
gage, mus'  pay  thar  bills  in  advance.  Now  my  year- 
ers,  yu  know  I  haint  got  nara  a  soul,  an'  dam  ef  the 
'  Perpryiter '  aint  in  the  same  boat. 

"  Hint  tu  him  that  yer  bill's  bigger  nor  yer  dinner, 
an'  he'll  smile  like  he  luved  yu,  an'  tell  yu  that  he's  jis' 
ruinatin  hissef  an'  his  famerly  clean  out,  es  fur  es  his 
wife's  cuzzin's  dorg,  (an'  a  durn'd  inturestin  famerly  hit 
ginerly  is  too  dorg  in,)  by  chargin  yu  es  low  es  he  hes. 
My  'sperience  amung  this  sort  ove  taverins  an'  grub 
factorys  hes  been  orful — tremenjusly  orful.  I  knows, 
bein  a  plum  natral  born  durn'd  fool  makes  agin  me 
everywhar ;  but  ef  thar's  wun  place  wus  tu  me   fur 


176  sut  loytngood's  sermon. 

menyfeld  tribulaslmns  nur  anuther  this  side  the  place 
whar  murd'rs,  'dult'rs,  hook-nose  Jews,  suckit-riders, 
tavrin  folk,  an'  sich  like  cattil  go  tu  arter  they's  swep 
frum  the  face  ove  yeath  by  death's  broom,  tu  cumfort 
tharsefs  drinkin  bilin  tar,  an'  eatin  red-hot  casiron 
sassengers.  Hit  is  durn'd  infunel  single  slay'd,  pewter 
spoon,  fly-blown,  one  hoss,  half  stock'd,  single  trigger, 
v  smoof  bore  tavrins,  an'  railroad  feed  troffs.  They's 
shorten'd  my  days,  they's  lainthen'd  my  nights,  they's 
poperlated  the  hole  territory  ove  my  cackus,  clear' d 
Ian'  an'  wood  Ian',  wif  all  breeds  ove  dredful  insex, 
they's  gutted  my  pockid,  they's  disturb'd  my  dreams, 
they's  'stonish'd  my  stumck,  they's  skeer'd  my  apper- 
tite,  they'se  spilt  my  smellin  tools,  they's  deafen'd  my 
years,  they's  'suited  my  eyes,  an'  they's  lef  a  mars- 
ter  stink  all  over  ontu  me  furever  an'  ever  more,  an' 
more  so  too  ay — men.  Oh,  my  dear  yearers,  'keep 
the  dus'  ove  thar  dinin-room  ofen  yer  foot,  an'  the 
smell  ove  thar  bed-room  ofen  yer  close,  that  yer  days 
may  be  longer  in  the  Ian'  what  yer  daddy's  tuck  frum 
the  Injuns.' 

"  I  seed  a  well  appearin  man  onst,  ax  one  ove  em 
what  lived  ahine  a  las'  year's  crap  ove  red  hot  brass 
wire  whiskers  run  tu  seed,  an'  shingled  wif  har  like  on- 
tu mildew'd  flax,  wet  wif  saffron  warter,  an'  laid  smoof 
wif  a  hot  flat-iron,  ef  he  cud  spar  him  a  scrimpshun  ove 
soap  ?  The  ( perpryiter '  anser'd  in  soun's  es  sof  an' 
sweet  es  a  poplar  dulcimore,  tchuned  by  a  good  nater'd 


sut  lovtngood's  sermon.  177 

slie  angel  in  butterfly  wings  an'  cobweb  shiff,  that  he 
never  wer  jis'  so  sorry  in  all  his  born'd  days  tu  say  no, 
but  the  fac'  wer  the  soljers  had  stole  hit ;  '  a  towi] 
then;'  '  the  soljers  hed  stole  hit ; '  'a  tumbler,'  '  the  sol- 
jers hed  stole  hit ; '  '  a  lookin-glass,'  'the  soljers  hed  stole 
nit;'  'a  pitcher  ove  warter,'  'the  soljers  hed  stole  hit;' 
'then  please  give  me  a  cleaner  room.'  Quick  es 
light  cum  the  same  dam  lie,  '  the  soljers  hed  stole  hit 
too.  They  buys  scalded  butter,  caze  hit  crumbles  an' 
yu  can't  tote  much  et  a  load  on  yer  knife ;  they  keeps 
hit  four  months  so  yu  won't  want  tu  go  arter  a  secon 
load.  They  stops  up  the  figgers  an'  flowers  in  the  wof- 
fil  irons  fur  hit  takes  butter  tu  fill  the  holes  in  the 
woffils.  They  makes  soup  outen  dirty  towils,  an'  jim* 
son  burrs ;  coffee  outen  niggers'  ole  wool  socks,  roast- 
ed ;  tea  frum  dorg  fennil,  an'  toas'  frum  ole  brogan  in- 
soles. They  keeps  bugs  in  yer  bed  tu  make  yu  rise  in 
time  fur  them  tu  get  the  sheet  fur  a  table-cloth.  They 
gins  yu  a  inch  ove  candil  tu  go  tu  bed  by,  an'  a  littil 
nigger  tu  fetch  back  the  stump  tu  make  gravy  in  the 
mornin,  fur  the  hunk  ove  bull  naik  yu  will  swaller  fur 
brekfus,  an'  they  puts  the  top  sheaf  ontu  thar  orful 
merlignerty  when  they  menshuns  the  size  ove  yer 
bill,  an'  lasly,  while  yu're  gwine  thru  yer  close  wif  a 
sarch  warrun  arter  fodder  enuf  tu  pay  hit,  they  refresh- 
es yer  memory  ove  other  places,  an'  other  times,  by 
tellin  yu  ove  the  orful  high  price  ove  tuckys,  aigs, 
an'  milk.     When  the  dveil  takes  a  likin  tu  a  feUer,  aD1 


178  sut  lovingood's  sermon. 

wants  tu  make  a  sure  thing  ove  gittin  him,  he  jis'  puts 
hit  intu  his  hed  to  open  a  cat-fish  tavern,  with  a  gran' 
rat  attachmint,  gong   'cumpanimint,   bull's   neck  var- 
iashun,  cockroach  corus  an'  bed-bug  refrain,  an'  dam 
ef  he  don't  git  him  es  sure  es  he  rattils  the  fust  gong. 
An'  durn  thar  onary  souls,  they  looks  like  they  expected 
yu  tu  b'leve  that  thy  am  pius,  decent,  an'  fit  tu  be  'socia- 
ted  wif,  by  lookin  down  on  yu  like  yu  belonged  tu  the 
onregenerit,  an'  keepin  a  cussed  ole  spindel-shank,  rattlin 
crazy,  peaner,  wif  mud  daubers  nestes  onderthe  soundin 
board,  a-bummin  out  '  Days  ove  Absins,'  ur '  the  Devil's 
Dream,'    bein   drnv   thar    too,   by    thar  long-waisted, 
greasey  har'd  darter,  an'  listen'd  to  by  jis'  sich  durn'd 
fools  es  I  is.     Thar  am  anuther  feeter  in  the  cat-fish  tav- 
rin,  what  hit  haint  pufeck  wifout.     Hit  is   tu  these 
sweet  scented   instertushuns   what  the  twis'  is  tu  the 
pig's  tail,  an'  am  in   the  shape  ove  a  ole  hairy  lipp'd 
oman  :     Sumtimes  she  is  a  motherinlor,  sumtimes  she 
is  a  she  uncle,  sumtimes  a  ole  maid  sister,  wifout  the 
fust  four  letters,  an'  allers  a  durn'd  nuisans  ginerally, 
an'  a  match  fur  the  Scotch  eatch  pussonally.     She  am 
featcr'd  like  ontu  a  white  face  muley  cow,  what  hed 
been  pisen'd  wif  pizen  oak  vine.     She  hes  a  par  ove 
san'-bag   ankils,  her  body  looks  like  hit  mout  a  been 
moulded  in  a  barril  wif  a  big  bulge  ;  she's  fond  ove 
biled   taters,    an'   bad    news;  she   wars  roun'    shiney 
specks,  a  bunch  ove  keys,  a  callicker  redicule,  an'  a 
seed-bag  cap,  wun  full  ove  quilt  scraps  an'  pipes,  an' 


sut  lovingood's  sermon.  179 

father  es  full  ove  deviltry  ;  short  cuts  tu  mean  tricks 
an'  plans  tu  discumfort  folks.  She  watches  the  wim- 
men  custumers'  rooms  ove  nights,  an'  tells  nex  day  what 
she  seed,  ur  hoped  tu  see.  She  knows  tu  a  crumb 
how  much  yu  hev  et,  an'  begrudges  hit  tu  half  a  crumb. 
She  makes  her  garters  outen  the  hems  ove  ole  shuttails, 
an'  is  so  savin,  she  wars  but  one  et  a  time ;  she  b'leves 
in  low  quarter'd  shoes,  fallin  frum  grace  ofen,  an'  in 
dippin  es  the  cure  ;  she  cou'dent  live  a  minit  enywhar, 
but  in  a  cat-fish  tavrin,  an'  I'm  durn'd  glad  she  can't. 

"Now  breatherin  an'  sistren,  outen  all  this  I  hes 
gether'd  the  follerin  orful  facks,  what  orter  be  known 
tu  all  passuns,  priests,  an'  pussons  who  preach.  Fust- 
ly,  the  '  purpryiters '  ove  cat-fish  tavrins,  an'  rail-road 
feed  troffs,  am  hell's  recruitin  ossifers.  He  goes  thar 
hissef,  in  course,  afore  his  toe-nails  git  cold,  an'  mos' 
ove  the  misfortnit  devils,  what  hes  stopp'd  wif  'im, 
goes  thar  too,  fur  cussin  an'  'vengeful  thinkin,  fotch 
about  by  dirt,  sloth,  swindle,  sufferin,  stealin,  an'  star- 
vashun.  Secon'ly  hit  am  a  orful  'sponsabil  ondertakin 
tu  keep  a  cat-fish  tavrin,  fur  hit  hes  a  brimstone  ret- 
ribushun  es  big  es  a  car  shed,  a-follerin  clost  arter  hit, 
an'  finerly,  I'd  jis'  ruther  du  wif  out  the  instertushun  in- 
tirely;  the  plain  one-bottil  doggery  fur  my  drinkin, 
the  kitchens  fur  my  vittils,  an'  the  barns  fur  my  bed, 
whar  the  bugs  cease  tu  bite,  an'  the  tired  kin  rest. 

"  Wharf  ore,  '  stop  not  tu  res'  whar  thar  am  a  sign,  fur 
thar  aint  res'  onder  hits  shadder,  neither  sup  wif  a  Ian- 


180  sut  lovingood's  sermon. 

lord,  far  he's  yer  foe,  but  gird  up  yer  coteail  an'  mar. 
vil  furder,  leas'  yu  lose  yer  soul  a-cussin,  an'  hev  yer 
paunch  et  intu  a  partridge  net  wif  pisen  Keep  the  dus 
ove  the  dinin-room  ofen  yer  foot,  an'  the  smell  ove  the 
bed-room  ofen  yer  close,  that  yer  days  may  be  longer 
in  the  Ian'  what  yer  daddy's  tuck  frum  the  Injuns. 


BART  DAYIS'S  DANCE. 


"Du  yu  know  that  bow-laiged  boy  on  the  fence 
thar  ?"  said  Sut 

"  No ;  who  is  he  ?" 

"  That's  Bart  Davis's  yungest  son,  name  Obed.  Jis' 
obsarve  how  his  snout's  skin'd  an'  his  year  slit  an'  so 
forth." 

"  Yes,  I  see ;  how  did  it  happen  ?" 

"Happen?  hit  didn't  happen  et  all,  hit  wer  dun 
a-pnpos,  permeditated  a-pupos.  Ther  wer  a  dance  et 
his  dad's,  las'  Sat'day  nite  wer  two  weeks  ago,  what  hed 
like  tu  bred  a  berryin  ur  two ;  the  corpses  wer  mos' 
redy,  an'  nuffin  but  acksidint  kep  em  frum  bein  fin- 
ished. I  wer  thar  mysef,  an'  kin  say  an'  swar  that  the 
chances  run  mity  even,  a-tween  mirth  an'  mournm. 
Fur  a  spell  hit  wer  the  exhitenest  time  I  ever  seed 
on  sich  a  ocashun,  not  tu  hev  no  more  whisky  nur  we 
hed.  Thar  warn't  but  'bout  half  a  barril  when  we  be- 
gun, an'  when  we  quit,  we  burnt  the  hoops  an'  staves 
tu  dance  the  las'  reel  by. 

"  Everybody  knows  Bart  is  a  durn'd  no-count,  jug- 


182  BAET  DAVIS'S  DANCE. 

kerryin,  slow-thinkin,  flea-hurtin,  herrin-eatin,  Noth 
Calinian,  plays  a  three-string  fiddil  wif  a  grasshopper 
jirk,  while  his  wife  totes  the  wood.  He  hes  but  two 
gifs  wuf  a  durn :  wun  is,  he'll  vide  his  whisky  wif  yu 
down  tu  the  las'  half  pint ;  thar  he  stops,  fur  that's  jis'  a 
horn  yu  know ;  an'  tuther  is,  he  ain't  feard  ove  eny- 
thing  a-livin,  sept  ole  Peg.  I  don't  wunder  et  that,  fur 
hit  mus'  take  a  man  wif  a  onnatrally  big  melt,  not  tu  be 
fear'd  ove  his  wife,  onless  she's  blind  ur  hes  a  sweethart. 
Peg  (she's  his  ole  quilt,  yu  know)  is  a  regular  steel-trap  l 
ove  an  'oman ;  she  goes  wif  wun  side  ove  her  frock 
tacked  up  at  the  hips,  her  har  down  her  back,  an'  a 
roasted  hickory  onder  her  arm  tu  scold  the  brats  wif, 
an'  tu  skeer  Bart.  They's  bof  great  on  dancin  ove 
Sat'day  nites  et  home,  an'  sumwhar  else  on  tuther 
nites.  Ef  thar's  a  frolic  enywhar  in  five  mile,  Bart  is 
sure  tu  be  thar,  an'  Peg,  too,  ef  she's  in  travilin  fix, 
which  ain't  more  nur  five  months  in  the  year.  She 
goes  fur  two  reasons :  wun  is,  tu  eat  an'  dance,  an' 
tuther  tu  watch  Bart.  He  hes  two  reasons  also :  wun 
is  tu  suck  in  all  the  whisky  floatin  roun,  an'  tu  du  a 
heap  ove  things  what  needs  watchin.  They  giner'lly 
hes  a  dermestic  discussun  arter  they  gets  home,  in 
which,  teeth,  claws,  an'  beggin  am  the  argymints,  an' 
'I  won't  du  so  no  more,'  the  aind  ove  hit.  They  am  a 
lively  an'  even  yok'd  par.  Nobody  else  on  the  green 
yeath  orter  be  tied  tu  either  ove  em. 

"  Well  they  mounted  that  par  ove  hames  yu  see  on 


BART  DAVIS'S  DANCE.  183 

the  fence  thar,  the  boy  name  Obed  ontu  a  muel,  an 
sent  him  tu  the  still-hous,  tu  naiTate  hit  that  thar  wud 
be  a  dance  et  home  the  nex  nite,  an'  fur  every  feller 
what  warn't  married  tu  fetch  a  gal,  an'  them  what  wer 
married  tu  fetch  two.  Now  this  rangement  show'd 
Bart's  good  sence,  fur  he  know'd  that  hit  takes  more 
gals  tu  du  married  fellers  then  single  wuns.  Caze  peo- 
ple what  hes  but  one  kind  ove  vittils  et  home,  hit 
allers  takes  more  tu  du  em  abroad. 

"  When  the  nite  cum  they  wer  all  thar,  a  hous'  plum 
full,  an'  amung  em  a  lot  ove  counter-hoppers  wif  strip'd 
sugar  candy  in  ther  pockets,  an'  young  lawyers  wif  cin- 
amint  ile  ontu  ther  har ;  all  on  em  frum  town,  an'  jis' 
ole  enuf  tu  begin  tu  strut  an'  gobble.  Thunder  and 
litnin,  an'  sun-flower  pattrin  calliker,  mixed  wif  check 
an'  stripe,  homspun  swept  all  about  thar,  wif  one,  jis' 
one  black  silk.  They  laid  off  two  reels,  wun  call'd  the 
leather  shoe  reel,  an'  tuther,  the  barfoot  reel.  I  danced 
in  the  wun  I  nam'd  las'." 

"  Why  did  they  divide  that  way,  Silt?" 
"  Why,  dum  hit,  don't  yu  know  that  the  dancin  wud 
turn  intu  fitin  afore  the  fust  set  got  ofen  the  flure,  ef 
they  mix'd  em  ?  The  shoes  wud  scronch  the  bar  toes 
in  dancin,  and'  rite  then  an'  thar  they'd  mix  fur  a  fite. 
A  hard-shell  preacher  wif  his  niouf  mortised  intu  his 
face  in  shape  like  a  mud's  shoe,  heels  down,  fotch  his- 
sef  thar  soon  arter  dark,  an'  made  moshuns  like  he 
ment  tu  stay  all  nite.     He  got  intu  a  corner,  an'  com- 


184  Bart  davis's  dance. 

menced  a-tclninin  up  his  sighin  an'  groanin  aperatus, 
a-shakin  ove  his  head,  an'  lookin  like  he  hed  the  belly- 
ake.  He  cudn't  hev  look'd  more  solemcoly,  ef  hia 
mam  hed  died  that  mornin  a-owin  him  two  dullars  an' 
a  'alf.  All  these  wimin  an'  luvely  souns  an'  moshuns 
wer  made  on  count  ove  the  dancin,  an'  p'raps  the  cus- 
sin  an'  kissin.  The  whisky  part  ove  that  inturtainment 
he'd  nuffin  against.  I  knoio'd  that,  fur  every  time  he 
v  roll'd  his  eyes  to'ards  the  barril,  he'd  lick  his  lips  sorter 
sloppy  like,  jis'  es  ef  he'd  been  dippin  his  bill  intu  a 
crock  ove  chicken  gravy,  an'  wer  tryin  tu  save  the 
stray  draps,  what  hung  outside  his  face.  Oh !  he  wer 
jis'  a-honin  arter  that  ball-face  whisky ;  he'd  a  jis'  kiss'd 
hit  es  sweet,  an'  es  long,  es  ef  hit  hed  been  a  willin  gal. 
I  sorter  aidged  up  a-side  him,  an'  sez  I — 

"  'Mister,  will  yu  hev  a  few  draps  ove  camfire, 
ur  laudamy?  Yu  seems  tu  be  pow'ful  ailin  in  yer 
innards.  Yu  hesent  swallered  a  live  rat,  ur  a  mole,  hes 
yu?' 

"  He  shook  his  head,  an'  fotch  a  sigh,  what  ainded  in 
a  groan.     Sez  I — 

"  '  Rats  ur  moles  am  onhelthy  things  tu  s waller  afore 
they'se  departed  this  life.' 

"  He  blow'd  out  a  orful  sigh,  part  outen  his  nose,  but 
mos'  ove  hit  out  whar  the  toe  ove  the  muel-shoe  wer, 
an'  sez  he— 

"  '  This  am  a  wicked  an'  a  parvarse  generashun  ove 
vipurs,  yung  man.' 


BART  DAVIS'S  DANCE.  185 

"  'An'  gin  up  tu  hardness  over  hart,  an'  deviltry, 
an'  belevin  thunderin  lies,'  said  I;  an'  I  puff'd  out  a 
big  sigh,  wif  a  little  groan  fur  a  tail.     Sez  he — 

"  '  Thar  am  no-o-o-o  dancin  in  hell,'  an  sot  intu 
shakin  ove  his  head,  till  I  thot  he'd  keep  on  fur  ever- 
lastin,  an'  ever  more.     Sez  I — 

"  '  Haint  yu  slitely  mistaken'd  in  that  las'  re-mark  ove 
yourn  ?  Ef  thar's  es  much  hot  truck,  an'  brmstone,  an' 
cinders,  an'  hickory  smoke,  an'  big  hurtin,  in  hell  es 
yu  folks  sez  thar  am,  thar  mus'  be  sum  dancin,  pur- 
tickelerly  jigs  an'  quick-steps ;  they  don't  lack  fur 
music,  I  reckon,  far  I'se  allers  hearn  hell  wer  full  ove 
fiddlers,  an'  thar's  Yankees  enuf  thar  tu  invent  fire- 
proof fiddils  fur  em,  so  they  don't  want  fur  tchunes. 
All  on  yeath  that  bothers  me  is  the  rosim.' 

"  'Ah,  yung  onregenerit  man,'  sez  he,  'thar's  more 
rosim  in  hell  than  thar's  in  all  Noth  Calmy.' 

"  '  But  hit  ain't  quite  hard  enuf  tu  rub  ontu  fiddil 
bows,  is  hit  ?'  sez  I. 

"He  groan 'd  an'  shook  his  head,  an'  s«nt  wun  one 
ove  his  eyes  to'ards  the  whisky  corner.  I  went  an'  fotch 
'im  a  big  slug  intu  a  gourd.  That  shovel-shaped  on- 
der  lip  ove  his'n  jis'  fell  out'ards  like  ontu  the  fallin 
door  ove  a  stone  coal  stove,  an'  he  upsot  the  gourd 
inside  ove  his  teef.  I  seed  the  mark  ove  the  truck 
gwine  down  his  froat  jis'  lil^.e  a  snake  travelin  thru  a 
wet  sassidge  gut.  He  smelt  intu  the  gourd  a  good  long 
smell,  turned  up  his  eyes,  an'  sed  '  Barlm  ove  life.' 


186  BAET  DAVIS'S  DANCE. 

"  Thinks  I,  ole  Sock,  I  know  what  fotch  yu  tu  this 
frolic  besides  yu're  hoss  an'  our  whisky.  Bart  now 
cum  up,  an'  Hardshell  tole  him  he'd  cum  tu  stay  all 
nite5  ef  he  suited  all  roun. 

"  '  Sartinly,  oh  yas,  an'  welcum,'  sed  Bart. 

"  The  ole  Sock,  never  alterin  the  shape  ove  the 
hole  tore  in  his  face,  sed,  mity  sneerin  like,  'Yu  is 
hosspitabil.'  I  seed  Bart  sorter  start,  an' look  at  him, 
an'  go  off  a-winkin  at  me  tu  foller  him.  We  went 
outside  the  hous',  intu  a  chimbly  corner,  an'  thar 
wer  two  fellers,  wun  ove  em  a  she,  a-whisperin.  We 
went  tu  tuther  corner,  an'  thar  wer  two  more ;  then  we 
went  tu  the  stabil,  an'  hearn  whisperin  thar ;  hit  mout 
been  rats  a-runnin  in  straw.  So  Bart  cud  hold  in  no 
longer.     Sez  he — 

"  '  Never  mine,  I  don't  keer  a  durn  who  hears  me. 
I  b'leve  I'se  been  'suited  in  my  own  hous' ;  didn't  that 
durn'd  preachin  mersheen  call  me  a  hoss  ?' 

"  '  That's  jis'  what  he  sed.  He  call'd  yu  a  hoss-pita- 
bil,'  sez  I. 

"  '  Pitabil,  pitabil,'  sez  Bart,  '  dam  ef  I  don't  b'leve 
that's  wus  nur  the  hoss.' 

"  '  Sartinly,'  sez  I,  '  pitabil  is  a  sorter  Latin  tail  stuck 
tu  hit  so  yu  moutn't  onderstand ;  hit  means  pitiful  hoss 
in  Inglish,  an'  ef  I  wer  yu,  I'd  see  that  his  stumack 
wer  spiled  fur  Peg's  fried  chicken  an'  biskit  I'd  go 
rite  in  an'  show  him  how  a  hoss  ken  kick  an'  sich  like.' 
he  jis'  gritted  his  teef,  like  he  wer  a-chompin  aigshells, 


BART  DAVIs's  DANCE.  187 

ur  paragorick  phials,  an'  put  fur  the  hous',  a-rollin  up 
his  shut-sleeves  es  he  went,  plum  up  tu  his  arm-pit. 

"  The  durn''d,  hiperkritikil,  groanin  ole  Hardshell 
raskil  hed  dun  got  the  dancin  stop't ;  he'd  tuck  the  fiid- 
dil  away  frum  the  nigger,  an1  wer  a-holdin  hit  by  the 
naik  in  wun  han,  an'  a-makin  gesters  wif  the  bow  in 
tuther.  He  wer  mounted  ontu  a  cheer,  clost  by  the 
meal  barril,  an'  wer  exortin  em  orfully  'bout  thar  sins 
ove  omishun  an'  cummishun,  purtickerly  the  cummi- 
shun  wuns,  wif  the  dancin  sins  at  the  head,  warin  sun- 
flower caliker  wuns  nex' ;  an'  then  cum  thar  smaller 
sins,  sich  es  ridin  a-hine  fellers  on  the  "same  hoss,  whis- 
perin  outen  doors,  an'  a-winkin  a-hine  fans,  tuckey-tails 
an'  hankechers,  an'  sed  that  black  silk  wer  plenty  in 
hell,  that  hit  wer  used  fur  mournin  thar,  an'  not  tu 
dance  in.  The  he  sins,  ove  the  small  sort,  wer  cumin 
frum  town  ove  nites,  a-warin  store  clothes,  smellin  ove 
cinamint  ile,  an'  a-totin  striped  sugar  candy  in  thar 
pockets,  tu  turn  the  minds  ove  the  weak  gals,  instead 
ove  a  flask  ove  that  good  holesum  ole  truck,  what 
they'se  got  in  towns,  name  '  coniack.' 

"  The  wimmen  folks  wer  backed  up  in  bunches,  in 
the  corners,  an'  agin  the  beds,  wif  thar  fingers  in  thar 
moufs,  an'  wun  ur  two  ove  the  saffcest  ove  em  wer  get- 
tin  up  a  quiet  sort  ove  dry  cryin. 

"The  he  fellers  all  looked  like  they'd  mos'  es  leave 
fite  es  not,  ef  they  knew  how  tu  start  the  thing,  when  in 
bounced  Bart ;  he  looked  like  a  catamount ;  wun  jump 


188  BABf  DAVIS'S  DANCE. 

an'  he  stood  a-top  ove  the  meal  barril,  squar  in  frunt 
ove  Hardshell,  his  har  a-swayin  about  wif  pure  mad, 
like  a  patch  ove  ripe  rye  in  a  wind,  an'  his  eyes  wer  es 
roun  an'  es  red  as  a  bull's  when  he's  a-jinin  in  battil 
wif  anuther  bull  frum  Bashan.  He  struck  wun  fistes 
away  out  a-hine,  an'  wif  tuther  reachin  at  arm's  laingth, 
he  cummenc'd  borin,  like  he  hed  a  gimblit  in  his  shot 
fis',  rite  onder  the  snout  ove  the  thunderin  Hardshell, 
like  he  wer  tryin  tu  bore  his  mouf  inter  a  better  shape, 
an'  a-narratin  thru  his  teef  these  facs,  in  words  what 
sounded  like  grittin  hard  co'n. 

"  l  Yu  durn'd  infunel,  incumpassabil  warter-dorg! 
yu  cuss'd  hiperkritikal,  ongrateful  ole  mus-rat !  yu  h — 11 
fir'd,  divin,  splatterin,  pond-makin,  iron-jacket'd  ole 
son  ove  a  mud-turtil,  yu  hes  'salted  me  in  my  own 
hous',  avU  in  Latin  et  that,  an'  then  yu've  tuck  the  imper- 
dent  liberty  tu  skare  these  yere  children  outen  thar 
innersent  mucement,  (still  borin  away  frum  left  tu 
right,  wif  that  horny  fis'  ove  his'n,  an'  the  Hardshell's 
head  gwine  furder  back  every  twist.)  Call'd  me  a 
hoas Git  ofen  that  cheer !' 

"  Es  he  sed  '  git,'  he  loaned  the  passun  a  mos'  tremen- 
jus  contushun,  rite  in  the  bull  curl.  I  seed  his  shoe- 
soles  a-gwine  up  each  side  ove  Bart's  fis'  afore  he  hed 
time  tu  muve  hit,  arter  he  struck.  Hit  wer  a  lick, 
George,  that  hed  hit  been  a  kick,  a  four  year  ole  muel 
wud  hev  been  pow'ful  proud  ove.  I  seed  ni  ontu  a 
gallon  ove  sparks  ove  fire  fly  outen  the  passun's  eyes 


BAKT  DAVIS'S  DANCE.  189 

mysef  (he  mus  hev  seed  a  bushel)  when  hit  reached 
his  curl.  He  let  the  fiddil  go  when  he  wer  in  the 
highes  part  ove  his  backward  summerset,  an'  the  nigger 
what  hed  been  watchin  up  at  hit  all  this  time,  wis'fu] 
like,  es  a  dorg  watches  a  meat-skin  when  yu  holds  hit 
too  high  fur  him  tu  grab,  cotch  his  fiddil  in  bof  hans 
afore  hit  toch  the  yeath. 

"  '  Dar  by  golly,  you  no  git  tu  smash  dis  fiddil,  wid 
yu  durn  fool  fitin  an'  preachin.' 

"An'  holdin  it  wavinly  abuv  his  head,  he  dodged 
outen  the  surkil  ove  imejut  danger.  The  old  Shell  lit 
ontu  his  all  fours,  hit  bein  that  much  more  nur  a  fall 
summerset,  an'  the  black  silk  lit  a-stradil  ove  him.  I 
know'd  hit  wer  the  black  silk,  bekase  I  seed  the  white 
stockins  an'  grey  garters.  Hev  I  mention'd  that  thar 
wer  one  hundred  an'  twenty -five  pouns  ove  live,  black- 
eyed  gal  in  under  that  black  silk  ?" 

"No,  Sut." 

"  Well,  thar  wer,  an'  that  she  wer  bof  live  an'  willin, 
ole  Dipper  wer  soon  redy  tu  swar.  '  Black  silk  in  hell 
is  thar,'  scream' d  she,  a-hissin  like  ontu  a  cat,  an'  cum- 
menced  a-pullin  up  by  the  roots  his  long  har,  like  hit 
wer  flax,  wif  bof  hans,  an'  a-shakin  the  bunches  oien 
her  fingers,  an'  then  gwine  fur  more,  the  hissin  gittin  a 
littil  louder  every  pulL  George,  that  wer  the  fust 
spessamin  ove  a  smokin  mad  gal  I've  seed  in  a  hen's 
age ;  she  kerried  out  my  idear  ove  a  fust-rate  flax-puller, 
pullin  agin  two,  far  a  bet.    I  think  she  gin  the  ole  Shell 


190  BART  DAVIS'S  DANCE. 

the  idear  ^hat  sum  strong  man  body  wer  a-holden  his 
head  ni  ontu  the  saws  ove  a  activ  cotton  gin. 

"  Now  the  boy  name  Obed,  with  the  hame  laigs,  hevin 
a  sorter  jestis'  ove  the  peace  turn  ove  mine,  run  in  tu 
pull  her  off,  an'  cudn't  du  hit  afore  she  made  a  rake  fur 
his  har,  an'  got  hit.  She  jis'  mixed  the  hanful  wif  the 
pile  on  the  flure,  an'  gin  hersef  back  tu  the  job  ove  pre- 
parin  the  passun  fur  a  wig.  A  hawk-billed,  weazel- 
eyed,  rat-mouthed  feller,  what  hed  been  a-struttin  roun 
Black  Silk  all  nite,  a-trailin  wun  wing,  an'  a-lickin  his 
lips,  seed  the  fool  boy  name  Obed,  a-tryin  tu  git  her 
tu  lite  ofen  the  ole  Sock,  so  he  jis'  growl 'd  low,  an' 
barked  once,  an'  kiver'd  him,  an'  afore  his  mam  Peg, 
an'  me,  an'  five  uther  gals,  cud  git  him  loose,  he  hed 
made  her  cub  the  speckterkil  yu  sees  roostin  on  that 
ar  fence,  an'  he's  hed  ni  ontu  three  weeks  tu  mend  his 
looks  in,  by  Jew  David's  plarster,  sweet  ile,  an'  the 
keer  ove  his  mam. 

"  The  fitin  now  got  tu  be  gineral  on  mos'  parts  ove 
the  field,  an'  es  the  cuppils  cum  in  frum  outen  doors, 
lookin  sorter  sneakin,  an'  pale,  (frum  the  nise  ove  the 
rumpus,  I  speck,)  wun  at  leas',  outen  every  par,  got 
jump't  on  by  sumbody.  P'raps  a  gal  wud  kiver  a 
cumin  in  gal,  anuther  gal  wud  go  fur  the  har  an'  skin 
ove  a  cumin  in  he  feller ;  then,  agin,  the  fis'  ove  a  he 
wud  meet  anuther  cumin  in  he,  right  atween  the  eyes, 
an'  so  on  till  the  thing  got  tu  be  durn'dably  mix'd  up 
an'  lively.     Peg  boun  up  the  boy  name  Obed's  wouns, 


BAET  DA. VIS'S  DANCE. 


"Black  silk  in  h-11  Is  thar',  scream'fl  she,  a-hissin'  like  onta  a  cat,  an'  commenced  a* 
pnHtn'  up  by  the  roots  his  long  har  like  it  wer  flas."  Pagt  190. 


BART  DAVIS'S  DANCE.  191 

bruises,  an'  petrifyin  sores,  an'  then  went  on  wif  supper 
cookin,  like  all  wer  quiet  on  the  Pertomack. 

"  Es  soon  es  ole  Shell  begun  tu  cum  to,  frum  Bart's 
dubbil  distill'd  thunder-bolt,  the  hurtin  all  over  his  head 
begun  tu  attrack  his  'tenshun,  an'  soaked  thru  his  skull, 
an'  in  thar  tuck  the  shape  ove  an  idear ;  the  idear  shaped 
hitsef  intu  spoken  wurds,  an'  they  wer,  '  Gird  up  yer 
loins  an'  giV  I  seed  the  wurkin  ove  his  mind,  so  I  jis' 
shouted  es  loud  es  I  cud  beller,  '  The  Pherlistshuns  be 
upon  yu  Sampsin.'  He  hearn  hit,  an'  wer  struck  wif 
the  force  ove  the  remark,  an'  started  far  the  back  door, 
still  on  his  all  fours,  in  a  single  foot  rack.  Es  soon  e<! 
Black  Silk  felt  him  movin,  she  cummenced  spurrin  him 
wif  her  heels ;  while  she  hilt  tu  his  har  wif  wun  han,  she 
tack  a  pin  outen  her  collar  wif  tuther,  an'  made  a  cush- 
ion fur  hit  in  the  hill,  ontu  the  north  side  ove  the  pint 
ove  his  back-bone;  he  kicked  up  an'  snorted,  an' 
changed  the  single  foot  rack  intu  a  tarin  pace,  loped 
outen  the  door  intu  outer  darkness,  an'  his  heel-tops 
wer  the  last  I  seed  ove  him.  He  stumbled  an'  fell 
down  the  log-steps,  an'  flung  Black  Silk  like  ontu  a  full 
balloon  over  his  head,  (I  seed  a  heap  ove  white  shinin 
es  she  went.)  He  felt  his  way  in  the  dark,  thru  the 
woods,  fur  more  pleasant  places,  an'  she  cum  in  larfin, 
'Black  silk  in  hell,  hey?'  wer  every  word  she  sed." 

"Goon,  Sut." 

"  That's  all.  I  ain't  like  ole  Glabbergab ;  when  J's# 
spoke  off  what  I  knows,  I  stor>s  talkie," 


192  BAET  DAVIS'S  DANCE. 

:' Well,  what  became  of  Hardshell  ?" 

"  Oh  !  es  tu  that,  he  made  his  'pearance  las'  Sunday, 
in  the  pulpit,  es  bald  es  a  jug,  wif  a  black  spot  aidged 
wif  green  an'  yaller,  'bout  the  size  ove  a  prickly  par,  on 
his  forehead,  an'  preach't  'bout  the  orful  konsekenses 
ove  Absalom's  hevin  long  har,  human  depravity,  an'  the 
Salt  Lake ;  sed  he  wer  gwine  thar  right  off,,  an'  he'll  du 
hit" 


TRIPETOWN:  TWENTY  MINUTES  FOR 
BREAKFAST. 


"  I  wer  onst  a-ridin  ontu  the  kers  ove  a  raleroad, 
an'  hed  been  livin  on  nuffm  but  sum  bites  ove  whis- 
ky far  a  hole  day  an'  nite,  an'  felt  like  a  congriga- 
shun  ove  rats  wer  a-bildin  thar  nestes  outen  sifter  wire 
in  my  stumick,  an'  a  hive  ove  bees  wer  a-fixin  tu 
swarm  in  my  head,  when  the  conducter  run  his  fore- 
aind  intu  the  door,  up  tu  the  butt  ove  his  watch-chain, 
an'  holler'd — 

"  i  Tripetown — twenty  minutes  fur  breakfus'.' 

"  'That's  me,'  sez  I,  an'  I  went  over.  I  jis'  tell  yu 
this  case  tu  show  yu  that  the  sarmint  I  hev  been 
preachin,  wif  Catfishe  Tavrins  fur  a  tex,  wer  pervok'd 
outen  me. 

"I  sot  down,  an'  oh,  lordy !  sich  a  breakfus !  My 
talk,  bad  es  yu  sez  hit  wer,  about  the  Catfishe  peopil, 
don't  begin  tu  du  jestice  tu  this  mess  ove  truck.  A 
hungry  dorg  wudn't  hev  smelt,  nur  a  sperienced  buz- 
zard even  lit  ontu  hit,  ef  thar  wer  a  ded  hoss  in  a  hun- 
dred mile.  I  tried  a  bite,  an'  hit  flew  outen  my  mouf 
like  ther'd  been  a  steel  mattrass  spring  quiled  in  my 
9 


194      TRIPETOWN — TWENTY  MINUTES  FOR  BREAKFAST. 

froat ;  so  ove  course  I  wer  the  fast  wun  outen  thar. 
Thar  he  wer,  the  everlastin  'perpryiter,'  a-standin  in 
the  door,  wif  his  paw  full  ove  notes,  a-lickin  the  ball 
ove  his  tuther  thumb,  like  he  wer  hungry  tu  begin, 
that  bein  the  chief  aind  ove  (the  Catfishe)  man. 

■"  'Two dullars  an'  a  'alf;  yu  mus'  make  the  change,' 
sed  he,  all  in  wun  breff. 

"  I  thor't  I'd  see  ef  all  his  feelins  wer  seared  wif  a 
red  hot  iron,  an'  so  I  sed — lookin  mity  serus  an'  pius 
like,  rite  squar  intu  the  middil  ove  the  glass  ove  his 
specks,  what  kivered  a  par  ove  es  mean  an'  muny-luvin 
eyes  es  ever  star'd  at  the  eagle  ontu  a  dime  ontil  that 
ar  bird  shot  his'n  up  wif  shame — 

"  '  Yu  keep  a  all-fired  good  hous',  Mister — good  bis- 
kit,  an'  coffee  tu  match ;  hit  gins  a  man  a  appertite  tu 
jis'  look  et  yu ;  hit  gins  him  a  appertite  an'  a  stumick 
tu  look  et  yur  wife,  an'  hit  sets  em  bof  a-rarin  an' 
a-squealin  tu  smell  yer  tabil.  This  am  a  holesum  place. 
An'  es  I  hes  far'd  so  well,  about  yu,  I  wants  tu  tell  yu 
a  valerabil  secret ;  ^ow  tu  make  yer  coffee,  good  es  hit 
is,  still  better,  an'  not  cos'  a  cent  more.' 

"  'Much  obleged,  indeed,'  sez  he,  an'  lookin  es  sweet 
roun  the  mouf  es  ef  he'd  been  a-tastin  good  brandy  an' 
white  sugar,  an'  wer  wantin  ove  more. 

"Now  the  travelers  wer  cumin  out,  ni  ontu  eighty 
ove  em,  an'  wantin  me  outen  the  way,  so  they  cud  pay 
fur  what  nastiness  an'  pizen  they'd  swaller'd,  an'  git 
outen  the  smell  ove  hit  es  soon  es  possibil,    I  jis'  kep 


TRIPETOWN — TWENTY  MINUTES  FOR  BREAKFAST.      195 

on  talkin  'bout  my  'provement  ontu  coffee  till  I  tho't 
mos'  ove  em  wer  in  year  shot,  when  I  rais'd  my  soun, 
an'  sed — 

"  '  Ef  yu  want  tu  make  that  good  coffee  ove  yourn 
better,  jis'  yu,  instead  ove  makin  hit  all  outen  ole  boot- 
laigs,  put  in  about  half  oyg__a_ole  wool  hat,  chopp'd 
fine,  finer  nur  yu  chops  yer  hash  say,  intu  pieces  a 
inch  squar ;  hit  will  help  the  taste  pow'ful,  an'  not  set 
the  smell  back  a  bit,'  I  flung  down  my  munny  an'  put 
fur  the  train.  I  swar,  es  I  went,  I  cud  feel  the 
fokis  ove  them  specks  a-burnin  intu  the  back  ove  my 
head,  an'  I  smelt  my  har  swingin.  I  know'd  that  he 
wer  tryin  tu  look  thru  me,  an'  the  peopil,  men  an' 
wimmen,  wer  screamin  a-larfin  et  sumthin.  Tu  help 
his  mad  to  a  head,  wun  feller  hed  sot  down  ontu  the 
step,  wif  a  segar  clamp't  atween  his  knees,  a  biskit  intu 
each  han,  whetin  away,  tryin  tu  strike  fire  outen  them 
ontu  hit.  Anuther  hed  fired  wun  ove  the  biggest  an 
hardes'  biskit  at  the  smoke-hous',  an'  hit  went  thru  the 
wether  boardin  like  a  grape  shot.  Anuther  perlite, 
bowin,  smilin  feller  cum  out  wif  the  drum-stick  aind 
ove  the  hine  laig  ove  a  ole  gander  'twixt  his  finger  an' 
thumb,  an'  narrated  hit  that  hit  wer  ole  Powhattan's 
war  club,  an'  he  wer  gwine  tu  start  hissef  a  museum ; 
while  out  in  the  yard,  lay  a  long  feller  flat  ontu  his 
belly,  wif  his  laigs  wide  apart,  an'  his  paws  locked 
roun  a  par-biled  beef  rib,  an'  he  wer  gnawin  at  tuther 
aind  ove  hit  fust  in  wun  side  ove  his  mouf,  an'  then 


106      TRIPETOWN — TWENTY  MINUTES  FOR  BREAKFAST. 

tuther,  growlin  like  a  dorg,  an'  a-eyein  sidewise  the 
picter  sot  in  the  door-frame  all  the  while.  A  long- 
necked  passenger,  top'd  off  wif  a  seal-skin  cap,  cum 
rushin  out  in  a  shanghi  trot,  wif  a  stripe  ove  tuff  tripe 
es  long  es  a  sirsingle.  He  hed  hit  by  the  middil  in  his 
mouf,  an'  wer  a-slashin  an'  a-slapin  the  aind  agin  every- 
body what  he  pass'd  by,  vigrusly  shakin  his  head,  jis' 
like  a  dorg  dus  when  he's  a-killin  snakes,  ur  a  sow 
playin  wif  rags  afore  a  storm.  All  these  shines  didn't 
stop  the  larfm  a  bit,  ef  I  noticed  right. 

"Well,  when  I'd  got  off  about  thuty  yards,  I  ven- 
ter'd  tu  look  back.  Thar  he  stood,  the'  mos'  orful  pic- 
ter ove  onregenerated  rath,  mortal  man  ever  seed.  He 
looked  like  he'd  weigh  five  hundred  pounds ;  he  wer 
swell'd  all  over,  ni  ontu  bustin,  an'  the  door  wer  chock 
full  ove  him,  all  in  a  strut.  His  arms  stuck  out  like  a 
settin  hen's  wings,  his  hat  cocked  before,  his  feet  wide 
apart,  an'  he  wer  a-lookin  at  me  sure  enuf.  Them 
specks  blazin  like  two  red  lamps,  his  lips  a-flutterin  es 
he  blow'd  out  the  hot  breff  an'  foam  ove  his  onbearabil 
pent  up  rath,  what  my  onekeled  an'  on-hearn  ove  im- 
perdence  tu  him,  the  perpryiter  hed  sot  a-bilin  in  his 
in'ards,  ontil  he  wer  ni  ontu  burnt  out,  thru  tu  the  har, 
an'  waiscoat.  The  smoke  ove  his  torment  wer  a-cumin 
out  in  whiffs  frum  his  breeches  pockets,  an'  button 
holes. 

"  My  lookin  back  toch  the  trigger ;  an  idear,  an' 
speech  now  cum  tu  him  fur  the  fust  time,  an'  he  ex- 


TRIPETOWN — TWENTY  MINUTES   FOR  BREAKFAST.      197 

ploded.  He  jis'  bellered  like  a  bull  bawlin  in  a  tunnel 
a-flingin  big  splotches  ove  foam  an'  spittil  way  ofen 
the  step  et  every  word. 

"  '  Spose — yu — go — tu — h — 11 — yu — dam — raskill.' 
"  He  wer  ontu  his  tip-toes  when  he  sed  this,  an'  as  he 
ainded  the  word  'raskill,'  he  cum  down  ontu  his  heels, 
till  he  made  the  winders  chatter,  an'  his  big  watch-seals 
dance  agin. 

"  I  jis'  kep  ontu  the  kers,  an'  didn't  du  what  he  tole 
me  tu.  Arter  we'd  run  two  miles,  I  looked  back,  an 
we  wer  so  fur  that  the  door  look'd  like  a  black  spot  on 
the  hous',  an'  I  wish  I  may  be  tetotally  durn'd,  cordin 
tu  law,  ef  I  didn't  still  see  them  hot  specks,  rite  in  the 
middil  ove  hit,  blazin  away  like  two  leetle  red  stars 
Sum  orful  calamity  tuck  place  at  that  rail  road  troff  tu 
sumbody,  afore  he  simmered  down." 


HEN  BAILY'S  REFORMATION. 


[This  truthful  narrative  is  particularly  recommended  to  the  careful 
consideration  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stiggins,  and  his  disciples,  of  the  Brick 
Lane  Pranch  of  the  Grand  Junction  Ebenezer  Temperance  Associa- 
tion.    This  mode  of  treatment  can  be  fully  relied  upon.  ] 

We  were  resting  by  a  fine  cool  spring,  at  noon,  with 
an  invitingly  clean  gourd  hanging  on  a  bush  over  the 
the  water.  Sut,  as  usual,  was  at  full  length  on  the 
grass,  intently  looking  at  the  gourd. 

"  Say  fellers,  that  ar  long-handil'd  gourd  thar,  mout 
cum  the  temprince  dodge  over  sum  ove  yu  fellers 
afore  yu  wer  quite  ready  fur  the  oaf.  I  looks  on  em 
all  es  dangrus,  an'  that's  a  mons'us  'spishus  lookin  wun, 
hit  hes  sich  a  durn'd  long  handil.  Allers  'zamin  the 
inside  ove  a  gourd-handil  wif  a  sharp  pinted  swich, 
afore  yu  drinks  ;  hits  a  holesum  foresight.  Hen  Baily 
— did  eny  ove  yu  know  Hen  ? — he  wer  a  peach  wif  a 
wurm  intu  hit,  enyhow — a  durn'd  no-count,  good,  easy, 
good-fur-nuthin  vagerbone,  big  es  a  hoss,  an'  lazy  es  a 
shingle-maker,  but  a  pow'ful  b'lever,  not  a  sarcumsised 
b'lever,  but  a  lie  b'lever  ove  the  straites  seek,  swallered 
everything  he    hearn,  an'   mos'   everything  he   seed 


HEN  BAILY'S  REFOBMATION.  199 

That  ar  swallerin  gif  ove  liis'n  cum  wifin  a  eighth  ove  a 
inch,  onst,  ove  sendin  him  tu  kingdum  cum,  an'  did  send 
him  head  fast  intu  a  life-everlastin  temprince  s'ciety. 
I'd  a-liked  pow'fal  well  far  tu  hearn  him  gin  in  his 
'sperince,  even  ef  he  tole  one  half  He  lov'd  biled 
drinks  orfal,  never  wer  a  hour's  walk  frum  a  still-hous' 
ur  a  dogger j  since  he  tuck  tu  warin  breeches. 

"Well,  yu  see  the  ole  man  Eogers  up  on  Los'  Creek 
wer  a-paintin  his  hous'  a-new,  an'  Hen  wer  suckilatin 
roun  thar,  jis'  prospectin  fur  sperits,  an'  seed  a  bottil 
wif  clar  truck  in  hit  what  he  tuck  tu  be  new  sperrits, 
go  when  the  painter's  back  wer  turned,  he  jis'  run  hits 
naik  down  his  froat.  He  fotch  hit  out  wif  a  onder- 
handid  jerk,  flung  hit  ahine  him  an'  put,  sputterin  an' 
yerkin,  fur  the  spring,  a-swabbin  out  his  mouf  wif  his 
ole  wool  hat  rolled  up.  Now,  boys,  hit  wer  sperrits, 
but  orfal  tu  think  ove,  hit  wer  sperrits  ove  tupentine, 
fresh  frum  the  rosinny  part  ove  Noth  Caliney. 

"  Me  an'  a  few  uther  durn'd  fools  wer  at  the  spring, 
sorter  es  we  is  now,  a-mixin  a  few  draps  ove  hit  wif 
sum  limber  laig-whisky,  an'  gabblin,  when  we  seed 
him  a-cumin  jis'  a-flutterin.  Es  he  run  a-pas'  the  wash 
place,  he  flung  the  hat  swab  away,  an'  snatched  the 
wash  gourd,  so  es  tu  save  time.  The  durn'd  lazy  cuss 
wer  in  a  rale  tarin  hurry ;  fust  time  I  ever  seed  him  run 
ur  cum  ni  runnin  in  all  my  born'd  days.  His  mouf 
wer  es  red  es  a  split  beef,  an'  the  light  big  bubbil  kine 
ove  slobber  wer  a-flyin  like  snow  frum  a-runnin  hosses 


200  HEN  BAILY'S  REFORMATION. 

heels.  Thinks  I,  sody,  by  the  great  golly !  oh,  yu  dam 
fool,  sum  gal's  cum  the  luv-powder  game  over  yu  pur- 
feckly.  He  wer  trubbil'd  in  mine,  fur  at  the  landin 
part  ove  every  jump,  he'd  say,  in  souns  like  he  hed  a 
gob  ove  scaldin  mush  stuck  tu  the  ruff  ove  his  mouf) 
the  words  '  Hell-fire,'  nufnn  else ;  them  wer  pow'fu] 
suitabil  words  tu  his  case.  I  didn't  think  he  wer  so 
good  at  pickin  out  talk ;  they  'splained  his  ailmint  bet- 
ter nur  a  doctor  cud.  He  soused  the  ole  soap  subs 
gourd  intu  the  spring,  an'  then  filled  his  mouf  over 
mos'  half  ove  the  aidge,  quicker  nor  flea  ketchin.  Es 
he  turn'd  hit  up,  I  seed  a  stripid  eight  inch  lizard  cum 
tarin  outen  the  handil,  whar  he'd  been  hid  es  he  thought. 
He  sot  his  fore  paws  ontu  the  aidge  ove  the  gourd  an' 
peeped  over.  Seein  us,  gin  him  a  turnin  skeer,  an'  he 
jis'  darted  down  Hen's  froat.  I  seed  his  tail  fly  up  agin 
Hen's  snout,  es  he  started  down  hill.  The  rep-tile  tuck 
his  mouf  tu  be  a  proverdenshul  hole  in  the  groun,  an'  I 
dusn't  wunder,  fur  hit  wud  a-fool'd  a  kingfisher  eny- 
time.  He  drap't  the  empty  gourd,  an'  holdin  his  belly 
in  his  lock't  hans,  sed — 

"  '  Warter  makes  hit  wus,  boys.' 

"  Sez  I,  '  Hen,  hits  the  lizard.' 

"  He  wall'd  roun  his  sweaty  stuck  out  eyes  at  me,  an' 
sez  he — 

"  'What  lizard?' 

"  '  Why  that  big  striped  he  lizard  what  yu  let  rum 
down  yer  froat  jis'  now,  outen  the   gourd-handil.     I 


hen  baily's  eepoemation.  201 

speck  I  wer  the  las'  pusson  what  seed  him  outside  ove 
yu,  fur  I  seed  the  pint  ove  his  tail  arter  hit  passed  the 
gap  whar  that  ar  frunt  tooth  cum  out' 

"  He  look't  a-sorter  listenin  look,  down  at  the  groun, 
fur  a  second,  an'  sot  intu  hoppin  up  an'  down  ontu  wun 
laig,  an'  then  ontu  tuther,  a-shakin  in  the  air  the  laig 
what  warn't  imejuntly  engaged  in  hoppin,  an'  men- 
tionin  'Hell-fire,'  every  time  he  changed  laigs,  an'  that 
wer  every  two  hops.  Then  he  fell  down  an'  sot  intu 
rollin,  wus  nur  a  yung  dorg  what  hes  ignurently  yamped 
a  pole-cat  He  kep  a-tuckin  his  head  sorter  onder, 
like  he  wer  tryin  tu  make  hit  roll  faster  nor  his  body. 
Sez  he — 

"  '  Great  fathers,  boys,  he's  a-gallopin  roua,  he  is  by 
grashus !' 

"  Sez  I,  '  Hen,  he's  a-'zaminin  yer  whisky  bag  fur  a 
good  spot  tu  bild  his  nestes  in,  he  means  tu  stay.' 

"  '  Oh,  lordy !'  yell'd  Hen,  '  he's  dun  foun  hit,  an'a 
a-tarin  up  the  linin  ove  my  paunch  tu  bild  hit  wif,' 
an'  he  roll'd  on  faster  nur  ever.  '  Sut,  ef  yu  please, 
run  fur  a  doctor ;  yu  hes  the  laigs.' 

"  '  Yas,'  sez  I ;  '  but  hits  dun  gone  fur  apas'  common 
doctorin.' 

"  When  he  hearn  that  vardic,  he  flounced  tu  his  feet, 
fotch  a  yell  what  ef  et  hed  went  thru  a  three-foot  tin 
ho'n  wud  a-busted  hit  plum  open  frum  aind  tu  aind, 
an'  sot  intu  flingin  the  bes'  kine  ove  show  actor  sum- 
mersets amung  the  roun  rocks  in  the  spring  branch 
9* 


202  hen  baily's  befoematton 

back'ards  twice,  forids  onst,  then  sidewise,  now  a  fall 
turn  an'  a  'alf  that  wud  fetch  him  ontu  his  head,  now  a 
'alf  turn,  an'  that  wud  Ian'  him  ontu  his  sturn.  Durna- 
tion,  how  he'd  spatter  warter  when  he  made  the  three 
quarter  turns,  then  clean  over  ontu  his  feet  he'd  cum, 
jis'  tu  yell  an'  fling  sum  more.  I  counted  till  hit  got 
tu  thuty-one,  an'  got  outen  heart,  an'  quit:  a  suckia 
agent  wud  a-gin  him  big  wages  jis'  then,  but  hed  been 
the  wust  fool'd  man  ever  born'd,  onless  he  ment  tu  dose 
Hen  wif  tupentine  an'  lizards,  an'  I  doubts  hits  movin 
him  a  secon  time.  Durn'd  ef  his  kerryins  on  didn't 
mine  me  ove  my  sody  misery  in  a  minnit ;  hit  struck 
me  so  pow'ful  that  I  hed  a  vilent  sarchin  blow  ove 
belly-ache  rite  thar.     Sez  I — 

"  '  That's  hit  Hen,  jis'  yu  keep  on,  an'  yu'll  soon 
make  that  ar  lizard  b'leve  he's  tuck  up  lodgins  in  the 
cylinder  ove  a  four  hoss  thrashin-mersheen,  an'  that 
harves  time  am  cum.  He's  boun  tu  vacate  yu ;  jis'  ras- 
til  on,  hoss ;  that's  hit ;  no  mortal  lizard  kin  stan  that 
sort  ove  churnin  amung  sich  a  mLxin  es  yu  ginerly 
totes  intu  yer  paunch.' 

"  '  Oh,  lordy,  Sut,  yu'se  right,  fur  I  raley  du  b'leve 
he's  cuttin  his  way  out  now.  Can't  yu,  (an'  over  he'd 
go  agin)  du  sumthin  ?'  (over  onst  more.) 

"  '  Yu  dam  fool,'  sez  I,  '  I  don't  know ;  but  ef  yu 
means  tu  keep  on  at  that  rate,  I  wud  surjis'  that  yu 
swaller  a  few  ove  these  yere  roun  rocks,  'bout  es  big  es 
goose   aigs,  an'   dam   ef  he   ain't  a  groun  up  rep-tile 


hen  baily's  reformation.  203 

sooner  nor  ef  he  wer  in  a  hungry  goose's  gizzard.  He 
made  a  moshun  ur  two  like  he  wer  grabbin  fur  rocks 
es  he  lit,  but  jis'  then  he  changed  his  mine,  an'  sot  in 
tu  runnin  roun  the  spring-hous',  a-leanin  to'ards  hit  an* 
jis'  a-missin  the  corners.  He  went  so  fas'  he  looked  like 
three  ur  four  fellers  arter  each  uther,  groanin,  hollerin, 
an'  remarkin  '  Hell-fire,'  all  roun  thar.  He's  a  pow'ful 
activ  injurin  man,  when  onder  stimuluses,  that's  a  fac'. 
I  tuck  a  stan  ni  ontu  wun  corner,  an'  es  he  cum  roun, 
I  cummenced  in  time,  an'  sed — 

"  '  Hen,  did  yer  take  yer  sody  seperit  ?' 

"  Nex  time  he  cum,  sez  he,  '  Sody  seperit — h — 1 !'  an' 
nex  roun  sez  he,  '  Aka-fortis,'  an'  the  nex  arter  that  he 
addid  the  words  '  Fourth-proof  at  that'  He  wer  gwine 
so  fas'  that  his  talkin  seemed  oninterrupted.  The  las' 
time  he  cum  roun,  he  hollered  in  dispar,  'I  haint 
a-gainin  on  hit  a  dam  bit,'  an'  tuck  hissef  up  a  red  elm. 
He  went  up  by  fas'  jerks,  jis'  adzackly  like  a  cat  climbs 
a  appil  tree  frum  a  clost  cumin  dorg.  He  locked  his 
footsis  roun  the  lowis  lim's,  an'  hung  hed  down,  swingin 
about,  an'  smackin  his  hans  like  he  wer  ni  the  shoutin 
pint  ove  happiness  at  a  ravin  camp  meetin.     Sez  I — 

"  '  That  won't,  du  ;  that's  a  wus  idear  nur  sircklin  the 
spring-hous'  wer,  an'  don't  cumpar  wif  yer  suckis  speri- 
mint,  fur  the  lizard  went  pow'fully  down  hill  a-gwine 
intu  that  sloppy  hole  he's  intu  now,  an'  he's  too  smart 
tu  start  down  hill  eny  more  fur  fear  hit'll  git  wus  j  he 
won't  cum,  Hen.' 


204  hen  baily's  beformation. 

"  He  answered  me  mons'ous  cross  an'  spiteful — 

"  'Let  him  go  ud  Mil  then,  dam  'im;  so  he  keeps 
gwine's  all  I  ax.' 

"The  lizard  wer  a-tarin  roun  right  peart,  I  speck, 
wadin  an'  swimin  as  he  wer  in  a  dark  pon'  ove  whisky, 
an'  tupentine,  thickened  wif  a  breakfus'  ove  blackberries 
an'  mush,  stirred  intu  a  purfeck  hurrycane  by  Hen's 
kerryins  on.  Hit  warn't  jis'  adzackly  the  right  place 
far  even  a  varmint  tu  go  tu  sleep  in,  enyhow. 

"  Hen  soon  foun  that  hit  wad  nither  go  up  hill  nur 
down  hill,  but  kep  a-tarin  roun  et  randum  wif  hits  long 
toe-nails,  so  he  los'  all  hope,  let  foot  holts  loose,  an'  sunk 
his  nose  up  tu  his  years  in  the  branch  bank  mud,  an' 
by  golly,  lay  still.  I  begun  tu  think  the  show  wer 
about  tu  close,  an'  I  hed  rights  tu  think  so ;  thuty-one 
counted  summersets,  an'  lots  ove  oncounted  ones,  aver- 
idgin  a  full  turn  each,  a  mile  an'  a  quarter  roun  a 
spring-hous',  an'  nine  hundred  yards  in  rollin,  not 
countin  the  small  moshuns,  in  'bout  five  minutes  wer 
ni  ontu  enuf  tu  fetch  eny  man  body  tu  lie  still — an'  then 
the  lizard  an'  turpentine — hit  wer  a  job  ove  no  com- 
mon kine,  an'  speshully  fur  Hen  hit  wer  mos'  wunder- 
ful.  Thinks  I,  ole  feller,  yu're  gwine  tu  make  a  die 
ove  hit,  an'  sez  I — 

"  '  Hen,  ole  feller,  while  yu'se  a-restin  thar,  jis'  feel 
ni  yer  trousis  an'  git  me  that  half  duller  yu  borrowed 
frum  me  las'  Chrismus;  feel  easy  fur  hit  an'  don't 
skeer  yer  lizard.' 


hen  baily's  reformation.  205 

"He  never  let  on  like  he  hearn  me.  Sez  I,  'Yere, 
Hen,  try  a  littil  ove  this  yere  whisky.  I  menshun 
whisky  loud ;  dam  ef  even  that  moved  the  pints  ove  his 
fingers.  Sez  I,  '  Boys,  he's  'bout  dun  wif  yeathly  mat- 
ters, he  won't  notis  whisky,  an'  his  herearter's  wifin  ten 
steps  ove  him  rite  now.' 

"  Ole  Missis  Eogers  hearn  the  fuss,  an'  seed  the  crowd 
roun  her  spring-hous',  an'  the  safety  ove  her  milk  an' 
butter  struck  her  pow'ful.  So  yere  she  cum,  wif  her 
ole  brass  specks  ridin  a-straddil  ove  the  highes  pint  ove 
her  calliker  cap  crown ;  thar  laigs  wer  a-usin  two  locks 
ove  her  red  roan  har  fur  stirrups,  away  below  her  years. 
She  hed  a  biled  roasin  ear  mos'  ove  the  time  acrost  her 
mouf,  wif  silks  an'  smashed  grains  plenty,  stickin  tu 
her  ole  moley  chin,  an'  her  nose.     Sez  she — 

"  'What  upon  yeath  yu  all  duin  yere — not  holdin 
meetin,  sure  ?  Ah !  yu  am  thar,  am  yu,  laigs,  yu  dad- 
dratted  draggild  san-hill  crane  ?  Sum  devilment  on  han, 
rite  now.  Clar  yersefs,  yu  nasty,  stinkin,  low-lived, 
sheep-killin  dorgs.  S-n-e-a-k  off,  afore  yu  steals  sum* 
thin.     Yere  Eove,  yere  Eove,  yere,  yere !' 

"  '  Sez  I,  mouns'us  solium,  straitenin  mysef  up  wif 
foldid  arms,  '  Missis  Eogers,  afore  yer  dorg  Eove  cums, 
take  a  look  at  sum  ove  yu're  work.  That  ar  a-dyin  feller 
bein ;  let  jis'  a  few  ove  yer  bowils  melt,  an'  pour  out 
rite  yere  in  pity  an'  rey-morse.' 

"  She  tuck  a  short  look  at  Hen.     '  What  ails  Mm  V 

"  Sez  I,  wif  my  arms  straiched  strait  out,  '  Cholick, 


206  hen  baily's  reformation. 

vilent  cork-screw  cholick,  one  ove  the  cholery  per 
swashun ;  he  jis'  tast'd  yer  buttermilk  in  thar,  an'  fry 
granny,  hits  dun  kill'd  'im,  that's  all,  Missis  Kogers.' 
Yu  see  she  wer  noted  fur  feedin  the  work-hans  on  but- 
termilk so  sour  that  hit  wud  eat  hits  way  outen  a 
yeathen  crock  in  wun  nite.  Sez  she,  wif  her  hans  on- 
tu  her  hips,  an'  standin  wide  an'  strait  up,  '  Yu're  a  liar, 
Mister  Lovingood!'  I  hes  allers  notis'd  nobody  ever 
calls  me  Mister  Lovingood,  (ef  they  knows  me,)  onless 
they's  mad  at  me.  '  Yery  well,'  sez  I,  '  we  am  gwine 
tu  strip  him  now,  an'  yu  kin  see  fur  yersef ;  hits  et  hits 
way  outen  him  by  this  time ;  jis'  stay  an'  'zamin  his 
belly.  I'll  bet  yu  my  shut  agin  that  ar  momoxed  up 
roas'in  har,  that  hits  chawed  intu  dish  rags,  frum  his 

waisbun  clean  down  tu '  She  flung  down  the  roas'in 

ear,  an'  put  fur  the  hous',  a-totin  her  frock-tail  high 
hilt  up  wif  bof  her  hans,  wifout  waitin  fur  me  tu  add 
'his  fork.'  I  wer  gittin  sorter  skeer'd,  an'  sorry  bof,  for 
Hen,  the  omary  devil,  an'  wer  a-lookin  at  the  groun 
studyin  ef  hit  warn't  bes'  tu  knock  him  on  the  head 
wif  a  rock,  an'  put  him  outen  his  misery,  when  I  seed 
the  break  an'  bulge  ove  a  mole  a-plowin.  A  idear,  the 
bes'  idear  I  ever  own'd,  struck  plum  thru  my  head,  an' 
I  dug  out  the  mole.     Sez  I — 

"  '  Boys,  listen  tu  me :  that  ar  feller's  mons'us  ni  ded; 
desprit  cases  wants  desprit  docterin;  let's  tie  his  gal- 
luses roun  his  waisbun  tight,  an'  start  this  yere  bline, 
fury  scramblm  littil  cuss  up  his  breeches  laig.    When  be 


hen  baily's  kefoemation.  207 

feels  the  scramblin  sensashun  on  the  outside,  he'll  think 
the  lizard  hes  got  out  sumwhar,  an'  the  idear  will 
make  him  feel  good,  enyhow,  live  ur  ded ;  thar's  no 
harm  in  a  mole,  nohow ;  les'  try  hit.' 

"We  turned  Hen  ontu  his   stomick,  an'   made  the 
top  ove   his  britches  mole  tight,  an'  I   sot  the   mole 
a-straddil  ove  his  heel-string,  an'  sunk  my  thumb-nail 
intu  hits  tail.     Away  hit  went  up  his  bar  laig  pow'ful 
fas',  rootin  like  a  hog ;  he  wanted  tu  go  tu  his  trade  ove 
diggin  agra,  yu  know,  an'  wer  sarchin  fur  a  saft  place. 
He  warn't  outen  site  very  long,  when  Hen  sorter  started 
forrid  on  his  stomick ;  that  wer  the  fust  sign  ove  life 
he'd  show  'd  since  he  buried  his  nose  in  the  blue  mud. 
Sez  I,  wif  a  heap  ove  hope,  '  Boys,  things  am  workin ;  ef 
he  wud n't  notis  speerits,  he's   a-notisin  that  ar  mole.' 
He  hod  a  par  ove  foot-holts   agin  a  root,  an'  he  shot 
bissef  forrid  ten  foot  intu  the  branch  at  one  lunge  wif- 
out  risin  four  inches  frum  the  groun.     I  tho't  I  hearn 
'Hell-fire,'  agin  in  a  sorter  sick  whisper.     He  ris  tu  his 
all  fours,  an'  shook  the  warter  outen  his  years  pearingly 
es  strong  es  ever,  an'  tuck  down  the  branch  in  a  rale 
fas'   cavalry  lope.     He  made  the  mud  an'  warter  fly, 
'speshully  when  he'd  kick,  an'  that  wer  every  two  ur 
three  jumps.     He  used  his  nine  laigs  jis'  like  a  hoss 
a-fightin,  an'  as  he'd  fling  up  his  shoes  he'd  menshun 
the  kine  ove  fire  I'se  been  tellin  yu  about,  an'  he'd 
wall  a  mous'us  sarchin  oneasy  eye  over  his  shoulder 
every  time  he'd  kick     Sez  I,  'Boys,  the  show  ain't 


208 


HEN  BAILYS  REFORMATION. 


over  yet;  les'  see  the  aind,  an'  git  the  wuf  ove  om 
munny.  One  ur  two  ove  the  crowd  dodged  intu  tha 
bushes  sorter  des'arted ;  they  wer  fear'd  tu  see  eriy  more. 
The  res'  ove  us  foller'd  Hen.  When  he'd  cum  tu  a 
deep  hole,  he'd  squat  intu  hit  up  tu  his  years,  a-sorter 
workin  hissef  roun  like  a  hen  a-fixin  her  nestes,  gruntin 
orful,  an'  a-cussin  everybody,  an'  everything  in  a  lump ; 
then  he'd  rar  forrid  ontu  his,  all  fours  agin,  an'  jis' 
travil.  I  can't  fur  the  life  ove  me  think  what  kep  him 
down  tu  his  all  fours.  Ef  hit  hed  been  my  case,  yu'd  a 
seed  sum  ove  the  durn'des  straites  up  an'  down  runnin 
ever  did  by  eny  livin  mortal.  P'raps  the  kerryins  on  in 
his  in'ards  warn't  es  sarchin  in  that  position.  At  las'  he 
gallop'd  out  ontu  a  san  bank,  an'  sunk  spread  out,  wif 
his  head  in  a  short  twis',  ni  clean  gone. 

"  Sez  I,  '  Boys,  the  durn'd  fool  hes  drowndid  my 
mole  atwixt  his  breeches  an'  his  hide,  a-squattin  in  them 
holes,  an'  I  hes  no  hopes  ove  him  now ;  les'  kill  'im. 
Jis'  then  I  seed  him  yerk,  sorter  vomitin  way,  so  I 
straddiled  him,  an'  cotch  him  by  the  har,  an'  pull'd  up 
his  head  tu  straiten  his  swaller,  when  imejuntly  yere 
cum  the  lizard  tarin  outen  his  mouf,  the  wust  skeer'd 
varmint  I  ever  seed  in  all  my  born'd  days.  His  eyes 
wer  es  big  es  fox  grapes,  an'  mos'  all  ove  em  outside 
ove  his  head,  an'  dam  ef  he  didn't  hev  enuf  tu  skeer  a 
lion,  fur  the  mole  hed  'im  fas'  by  the  tail,  an'  wer  men- 
din  his  holt,  an'  that  ar  interprisin  littil  yeath-borer 
hadn't  a  durn'd  mossel  ove  fur  left  ontu  his  hide ;  hit 


hen  bailt's  eefoemation.  209 

wer  all  limed  off;  he  looked  rite  down  slick  an'  funny, 
wif  a  lizard  a-haulin  'im  fru  the  san,  I  swar  he  did. 
Wunder  what  they  thought  hed  been  happenin. 

"  Well,  we  toted  Hen  home,  an'  when  he  got  sorter 
well,  he  jined  a  ole  well-sot  temprince  s'ciety,  an'  puts 
hit  up  that  the  hole  thing,  tupentine,  lizards  an'  mole, 
wer  interpersishun  tu  save  him  frum  turnin  intu  a 
drunkard.  The  cussed  hippercrit!  he  warnt  never 
enything  else.  I  oughtent  tu  speak  hard  ove  the  mis- 
fortnit  critter  tho',  fur  he  hes  got  the  dispepsy,  the 
wust  kine." 


FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 


"  Hit  mus'  be  a  sorter  vexin  kine  ove  thing  tu  be 
buried  alive,  tu  the  feller  what  am  in  the  box,  don't 
yu  think  hit  am,  George  ?" 

"Yes,  horrible,  Sut;  what  set  you  thinking  about 
such  a  subject,  with  as  much  whisky  as  you  have  access 
to?" 

"  Oh,  durn  hit,  I  thinks  at  randum,  jis'  es  I  talk  an' 
dus.  I  can't  help  hit,  I'se  got  no  steerin  oar  tu  my 
brains.  'Sides  that  I  thinks  they'se  hose  'bout  the 
middil." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  I  thinks  peopil's  brains  what  hev  souls,  am 
like  ontu  a  chain  made  outen  gristil,  forkid  at  wun 
aind ;  wun  fork  goes  tu  the  eyes,  an'  tuther  tu  the  years, 
an'  tuther  aind  am  welded  tu  the  marrer  in  the  back- 
bone, an'  hit  works  sorter  so.  Thar  stans  a  hoss. 
Well,  the  eyes  ketches  his  shape,  jis'  a  shape,  an'  gins 
that  idear  tu  the  fust  link  ove  the  chain.  He  nickers, 
an'  the  years  gins  that  tu  tuther  fork  ove  the  chain,  a 
soun,  nuffin  but  a  soun.  Well,  the  two  ruff  idears 
start  along  the  chain,  an'  every  link  is  smarter  nur  the 


FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL.  211 

wun  ahine  hit,  an'  dergests  em  sorter  like  a  paunch 
dus  co'n,  ur  mash'd  feed,  an'  by  the  time  they  gits  tu 
the  back-bone,  hit  am  a  hoss  an'  yu  knows  hit  Now, 
in  my  case,  thar's  a  hook  in  the  chain,  an'  hits  mos' 
ove  the  time  onhook'd,  an'  then  my  idears  stop  thar 
half  made.  Eite  thar's  whar  dad  failed  in  his  'speri- 
ment ;  puttin  in  that  durn'd  fool  hook's  what  made  me 
a  natral  born  fool.  .  The  breed  wer  bad  too,  on  dad's  side ; 
they  all  run  tu  durn'd  fool  an'  laigs  powerful  strong." 

"But  what  about  burying  alive,  Sut?" 

"  Oh,  yas ;  I  wer  a-thinkin  ove  a  case  what  happen'd 
on  Hiwassee,  what  like  tu  started  a  new  breed  ove 
durn'd  fools,  an'  did  skare  plum  away  a  hole  neighbor- 
hood ove  ole  breed. 

"  Ole  Hunicutt  hed  a  niggar  name  Cesar,  they  call'd 
'im  Seize  fur  short,  an'  he  got  sock  full  ove  Wright's 
kill-devil  whisky,  an'  tuck  a  noshun  he'd  spite  ole 
Hunicutt  by  dyin,  an'  durned  ef  he  didn't  du  hit  His 
marster  got  a  coffin  wif  a  hinge  in  the  led  acrost  the 
breas',  fur  tuther  niggers  tu  take  farwell  ove  Seize 
thru,  an'  see  the  orful  consekenses  ove  drinkin  kill- 
devil  by  the  gallun ;  at  the  same  time.  He  ment  tu 
gin  em  a  temprance  lecter  when  they  went  tu  start  tu 
the  bone-yard,  but  durn  me  ef  he  staid  thar  hissef  till 
funeral  time.  The  niggers  got  Seize  sot  in  the  box 
mity  nice,  an'  the  led  on.  He  wer  in  a  empty  room, 
'Bceptin  a  bed  in  wun  aind  ove  a  dubbil  log  nigger 
cabin,  an'  the  niggers  what  sot  up  wif  the  corpse  did 


>y 


212  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

hit  in  the  tuther  room.  Thar  wer  lots  ove  em  an'  singin 
an'  groanin  wer  plenty.  Way  in  the  night  a  nigger 
name  '  Major '  cum  tu  help  du  the  sittin  up,  an'  he  wer 
drunk  plum  thru  an'  thru ;  so  they  fotch  'im  intu  whar 
Seize  wer,  an'  laid  him  in  the  bed,  whar  he  soon  fell 
tu  snorin,  an'  dreamin  ove  snakes,  sky  blue  lizards,  an' 
red  hot  reptiles. 

"Now,  a  yung  doctor  what  hed  help'd  Seize  over 
the  fence,  twixt  this  an'  kingdum  cum,  wanted  his 
cackus  tu  chop  up,  an'  bile,  so  he  gits  me  tu  git  hit  fur 
'im  arter  hit  wer  onder  the  groun,  an'  I  fmdin  out  how 
the  land  lay  by  slungin  roun,  fixed  up  a  short-cut  tu, 
git  hit  wifout  diggin.  I  slip't  intu  the  room  twixt 
midnite  an'  day,  an'  foun  Maje  sorter  grumblin  in  his 
sleep,  so  I  shuck  him  awake  enuf  tu  smell  whisky,  an' 
hilt  a  tin  cupful  ove  heart-burn,  till  the  las'  durn'd 
drap  run  down  his  froat,  an'  he  sot  intu  sleepin  agin 
an'  then  I  swapt  niggers. 

"  Arter  I  got  Maje  intu  the  coffin,  an'  hed  cut  sum 
air-holes,  I  sot  in  an'  painted  red  an'  white  stripes, 
time  about,  runnin  out  frum  his  eyes  like  ontu  the 
spokes  ove  a  wheel,  an'  cross-bar'd  his  upper  lip  wif 
white,  ontil  hit  looked  like  boars'  tushes,  an'  I  fas- 
tened a  cuppil  ove  yearlin's  ho'ns  ontu  his  head,  an' 
platted  a  ded  black-snake  roun  the  roots  ove  em,  an' 
durn  my  laigs  ef  I  didn't  cum  ni  ontu  takin  a 
runnin  skeer  mysef,  fur  he  wer  a  purfeck  dogratype 
ove  the  devil,  tuck  while  he  wer  smokin  mad   'bout 


FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL.  213 

sum  raskil  what  hed  been  sellin  shanghis,  an'  a-pedlin 
matchless  sanative  all  his  life,  then  jinin  meetin  on  his 
death-bed,  an'  'scapin. 

"  I  now  turn  mj  'tenshun  tu  Mister  Seize.  I'd  got 
'bout  a  tin  cup  full  ove  litnin  bugs,  an'  cut  off  the  lan- 
tern ove  the  las'  durn'd  one ;  I  smear'd  em  all  over  his 
face,  har  an'  years,  an'  ontu  the  prongs  ove  a  pitch-fork ; 
I  sot  him  up  in  the  corner  on  aind,  an'  gin  him  the 
fork,  prong  aind  up  in  his  crossed  arms.  I  then  pried 
open  his  mouf,  an'  let  his  teef  shet  ontu  the  back  ove  a 
live  bull-frog,  an'  I  smeared  hits  paws  an'  belly  wif 
sum  ove  my  bug-mixtry,  an'  pinned  a  littil  live  garter- 
snake  by  hits  middil  crosswise  in  his  mouf,  smeared 
like  the  frog  plum  tu  the  pint  ove  his  tail.  The  pin 
kep  him  pow'ful  bizzy  makin  suckils  an'  uther  crooked 
shapes  in  the  air.  Now,  rite  thar  boys,  in  that  corner, 
stood  the  dolefulest  skeer  makin  mersheen,  mortal  man 
ever  seed  outen  a  ghost  camp.  I  tell  yu  now,  I  b'leves 
strong  in  ghosts,  an'  in  forewarnins  too. 

"  I  hearn  sum  one  a-cumin,  an'  I  backed  on  my  all 
fours  onder  the  bed.  Hit  wer  '  Simon,'  the  ole  preachin 
an'  exhortin  nigger  ove  the  neighborhood.  He  hilt  a  lite 
made  outen  a  rag  an'  sum  fat,  in  a  ole  sasser,  an'  he 
cum  sighin  an'  groanin  wif  his  mouf  pouched  out,  up 
tu  the  coffin  wifout  seein  Seize  in  the  corner  at  all,  an' 
histed  the  led — drap't  the  sasser,  an'  los'  the  lite,  an' 
sed  '  Oh !  Goramity  massy  on  dis  soul ;  de  debil  hesef 
on  top  ob  brudder  Seize  !'  As  he  straitened  tu  run  he 
14 


214  FKUSTEATING  A  FUNKRAL. 

seed  Seize  in  the  corner.  Jis'  then  I  moaned  out  in  a 
orful  doleful  vise,  '  Hiperkrit,  cum  tu  hell,  I  hes  a  claim 
ontu  yu  fur  holdin  the  bag  ivhile  Seize  stole  co'n.1  (I  seed 
em  a-doin  that  job  not  long  afore.)  He  jis'  rar'd  back- 
wards, an'  fell  outen  the  door  wif  his  hans  locked,  an' 
sed  he  in  a  weak,  fever-ager  sort  ove  vise,  '  Please  mar- 
ster,'  an'  jis'  fainted,  he  soon  cum  to  a-runnin,  fur  I 
hearn  the  co'n  crashin  thru  the  big  field  like  a  in-gine 
wer  runnin  express  thru  hit  I  haint  seed  '  Simon,'  tu 
this  day. 

"  Now,  ole  Hunicutt  hed  been  pow'fully  agrawated 
'bout  the  co'n  stealin  business  gwine  on ;  in  fact  he  fell 
frum  grace  about  hit  bad.  So  whenever  he  hearn  eny 
soun  outen  doors  ove  a  spishus  kine,  up  he'd  jump 
wif  a  shot-gun,  an'  take  a  scout  roun  the  barn  an' 
co'n-crib. 

"  Well,  es  soon  es  Simon  cummenced  runnin  wif  the 
feebil  hope  ove  beatin  the  devil,  I  shoulder'd  Seize,  an' 
toted  him  out  tu  the  crib,  an'  sot  him  up  agin  the  door, 
as  hit  wer  thar  the  doctor  wer  tu  fine  him,  'cordin  tu 
'greemint.  Yu  see  I  wanted  tu  break  him  frum  suckin 
aigs.  I  thot  when  he  tuck  a  good  'zamine  ove  Seize, 
an'  his  pitch-fork,  an'  bull-frog,  an'  fire-bugs'  tails,  hit 
wud  take  away  his  appertite  fur  grave-yards  an'  bil'd 
bones,  till  he  got  ole  enuf  tu  practize  wifout  sich  dirty 
doins,  an'  mout  even  make  him  jine  meetins.  I  cudn't 
tell  how  much  good  hit  mout  du  the  onb'lever.  I'd 
scarcely  got  Seize  balanced  so  he'd  stan  good,  when  I 


FKUSTKATXNG  A  FUKEIUL.  215 

hearn  ole  Hunicutt  cummin ;  I  hearn  his  gun  cock,  so  I 
jis'  betuck  mysef  onder  the  co'n-crib,  wif  my  head  clost 
tu  Seize's  laigs,  an'  hid  ahine  his  windin-sheet,  onbe- 
howenst  tu  him,  an'  his  durn'd  ole  shot-gun  too.  The 
6le  thief-hunter  sneak'd  mons'ous  kerful  roun  the  corner 
in  his  shutail — cum  wifin  three  feet  ore  the  dead  nig- 
ger, aril  then  seed  him. 

"  In  the  same  doleful  souns  I  used  ontu  Simon,  I  sed  : 
'  Hunicutt,  yu'se  fell  frum  grace ;  I'll  take  yu  down 
home  now,  leas'  yu  mout  git  good,  ari  die  afore  yu  fell 
agin.1  Darn  my  picter  ef  I  didn't  cum  mons'ous  ni 
helpin  the  devil  tu  wun  orful  sinner,  onexpected  rite 
thar,  in  yearnist. 

"  He  drap't  in  a  pile  like  ontu  a  wet  bed  quilt ;  as  he 

struck,  he  sed,  '  I  haint  fell  frum  gr '  Eite  then  an' 

thar,  I  reached  out  an'  grabbed  his  shut,  a  savin  holt 
wif  bof  hans,  sot  my  cold  sandy  foot  agin  his  bare 
back,  an'  leaned  intu  pullin  pow'ful  strong.  Sez  I, 
'  Yes  yu  am  fell  frum  grace,  don't  yu  lie  tu  me ;  du  yu 
know  Missis  Loffcin?  Cum  ivif  me.1  When  I  men- 
shun'd  Missis  Loftin,  he  fotch  a  marster  lunge.  I  hearn 
his  collar -buttons  snap,  an'  he  went  outen  that  shut  like 
a  dorg  outen  a  badger-barril,  an'  he  run,  yas,  by  the  great 
golly !  he  flew.  I  trumpeted  arter  him,  '  Stop  ;  I  means 
tu  take  Missis  Loftin  wif  yu.1  He  wer  a-runnin  squar 
an'  low  till  he  hearn  that,  an'  durn  dad,  ef  he  didn't 
rise  now  six  foot  in  the  air  every  lunge,  an'  he'd  make 
two  ur  three  runin  moshuns   afore  he'd  lite.     I   sent 


216  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

what  wer  in  bof  barrils  ove  his  shot-gun  arter  him,  but 
the  shot  never  cotch  up.     I  got  a  shot-gun  and  a  shut 
I  for  mysef 

"I  know'd  the  pill-roller  wudn't  venter  clost  now 
arter  all  the  fuss,  an'  shootin,  he'd  lose  his  mess  ove 
bil'd  bones  fas'.  So  I  shouldered  Seize,  an'  put  over 
the  hill  tu  his  shop,  takin  a  circumbendibus  roun,  so 
es  not  tu  cum  up  wif  him  on  the  path.  He  warn't  in, 
he  sure  enuf  hed  started,  but  the  shot-gun  hed  made 
him  hide  hissef  fas',  an'  arterwards  go  home. 

"  I  ainded  Seize  up  in  his  bed,  back  agin  the  wall, 
an'  facin  the  door.  Torrectly  I  hearn  his  tin  pill-boxes, 
his  squ't  an'  his  pullicans  rattlin  in  his  pockets  ;  he  wer 
a-cumin.  I  jis'  slid  onder  the  bed,  an'  stuck  my  head 
up  atween  hit  an'  the  wall,  an'  ahine  Seize.  He  step't 
intu  the  dark  room,  an'  by  the  help  ove  the  fire-bug 
plaster  he  seed  a  heap,  in  fact  more  nur  wer  cumfor- 
tabil  by  about  sixty-two  an'  a  'alf  cents.  Thar  wer  a 
luminated  snake  a-wavin  roun,  thar  wer  the  shiny  frog 
movin  his  laigs  an'  paws  like  he  wer  a-swimmin,  then 
he'd  gester  wif  his  arms  like  he  wer  makin  a  stump- 
speech;  thar  wer  the  pitch-fork  wif  hits  hot  prongs, 
(the  doctor  hearn  them  sciz,)  an'  more  nur  all  thar  wer 
the  orful  corpse,  wif  hits  face  an'  har  all  a-fire.  Too 
much  hell-sign  on  that  bed  even  fur  a  bone-biler's 
narves.  He  jis'  stop't  short,  froze  tu  the  heart.  I  felt 
bis  shiverin  cum  tu  me  in  the  floor -planks. 

"  I  tuck  the  same  ole  vise  what  hed  sich  a  muvin 


FRUSTKATTNG  A  FUNEBAL.  217 

effect  ontu  Simon  an'  Hunicutt,  an'  sed:  'Yu  wants 
sum  bones  tu  bile,  dus  yu  ?  Didn't  raise  eny  tu-night, 
did  yu?  I'se  in  that  bisness  mysef — follered  hit  ni 
ontu  thuty  thousand  years.  I'se  a-bilin  Ike  Green's, 
an'  Polly  Weaver's,  an'  ole  Seize's  what  yu  pizen'd  far 
me,  avu  they  sent  me  arter  yu  ;  les's  go,  my  bilin  hous'  is 
warm — yu's  cold — cum,  sonny.' 

"  When  I  spoke  ove  ole  Seize,  he  know'd  I  wer  that 
orful  ole  king  ove  sorrer,  an'  that  he  wer  gwine  tu  ride 
ontu  the  prongs  ove  that  ar  pitch-fork,  dripin  now  wif 
the  burnin  taller  ofen  Seize's  ribs,  strait  tu  whar  all 
quacks  go  Sez  he,  '  W-w-wait,  sir,  till  I  gits  my  phis- 
sick-box  ;  I'se  on  well,  please.'  An'  outen  the  door  he 
bulged.  I  hollered  arter  him,  'Bring  yer  diplomer,  I 
wants  tu  'zamin  MV  'Oh,  yes  sir.'  I  hearn  this  away 
back  ove  the  field.  In  thuty-one  days  frum  that  date, 
he  wer  tendin  a  grist-mill  in  Californy.  Ef  he  tends  hit 
on  the  plan  he  tended  folks  yere,  he's  got  hits  bones 
a-bilin  afore  now, 

"  I  wish,  George,  sum  smart  man-body  wud  bile  the 
bones  ove  a  grist-mill,  an'  find  the  cause,  an'  p'raps  the 
cure  fur  '  mill-sick.'  " 

"What  in  the  name  of  the  Prophet  is  'mill-sick?' 
Sut." 

"Why,  hits  a  ailin  what  mills  giner'lly  hes,  hits 
mity  hurtin  too,  fur  the  peopil  in  the  hole  neighbor- 
hood kin/eeZ  the  sufferin  ove  the  misfortinit  mill" 

"  How  does  it  affect  the  mills  ?" 
10 


218  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

"  Why,  orfully ;  they  dorit  pass  all  they  chaws.  Yu 
sumtimes  sees  sign  ove  hit  on  the  miller  an'  his  hogs ; 
they  looks  like  they  hes  the  dropsy. 

"Now  durn  jis'  sich  luck;  yere  I  wer  wif  Seize's 
copse  on  han,  an'  hit  ni  ontu  daylite,  no  box,  no  spade, 
no  hole,  an'  wus  nur  all,  no  whisky.  Durn  fools  don't 
allers  hev  sich  luck  es  this  wer ;  ef  they  did,  how  wud 
peopil  ever  git  rich,  ur  tu  Congriss.  I  made  the  bes' 
I  cud  outen  a  bad  fix.  I  jis'  toted  the  ole  skare  out  intu 
the  woods,  an'  hid  him  onder  a  log,  an'  went  over  tu 
Hunicutt's  agin.  I  wer  boun  tu  go,  fur  my  whisky 
wer  hid  thar. 

"  The  niggers  wer  all  in  a  huddle  in  the  kitchin,  an' 
the  white  folks  all  a-cryin,  an'  a-snufflin.  Missis  Huni- 
cutt  wer  out,  a-top  the  bars,  a-callin  ove  him.  'Oh, 
Hunicuttee,'  like  callin  cows,  an'  he  warn't  answerin. 
In  fac'  everybody  wer  skar'd  durn  ni  outen  thar  wits. 
I  tole  em  the  bes'  thing  they  cud  du,  wer  tu  git  the 
dirt  a-top  ove  that  nigger  Seize  es  quick  es  spades  an' 
hoes  cud  du  hit;  that  I  know'd  sumfin  wer  wrong 
wif  Seize;  must  hev  been  a  orful  hiperkrit  afore  he 
died.  Passun  Simon  hed  been  spirited  off  wif  a  burnin 
sasser  ove  fat  in  his  han ;  Maje  warn't  in  the  bed,  an 
wer  too  drunk  tu  git  away  hissef,  an'  es  I  cum  yere  jis' 
afore  day,  I  met  Mr.  Hunicutt  way  up  in  the  air,  ridin 
a-straddil  ove  a  burnin  ladder  wif  Missis  Loftin  ahine 
him,  her  petticoatail  a-blazin,  an'  she  a-singin,  '  Farwell 
vain  worl,  I'se  gwine  home.' 


FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL.  219 

"Hunicutt's  ole  cook  rolled  up  her  eyes  an'  sed, 
smackin  her  hans :  '  Dar,  dats  hit,  I'se  know  dis  tree 
munf  Missis  Loftin  fotch  de  debil  heah  afore  she  dun  ; 
goramity  bress  de  worl,  she  dun  du  hit  now !' 

"  Missis  Hunicutt  look't  at  me  keenly,  an'  axed  me  ef 
I  wer  shure  hit  wer  Missis  Loftin  I  seed  on  the  ladder. 
I  tole  her  '  Yas ;  I'd  swar  hit ;  I  know'd  her  kalliker.' 

"  Sez  she  :  '  Now  I  kin  bar  my  brevement'  An'  she 
sot  intu  comin  her  har. 

"  Well,  the  niggers  geard  a  par  ove  hosses  tu  a  wag- 
gin,  an'  put  the  coffin  in  wifont  scarcely  sayin  a  word, 
ur  even  venterin  tu  take  a  farwell  look  ove  the  corpse ; 
they  wanted  hit  away  frum  thar,  sure  es  yu  are  born. 
Jis'  s'pose  they  hed  open'd  that  led  an'  seed  Maje 
dressed  up  es  he  wer.  Oh,  lordy !  enuf  niggers  wud 
hev  jis'  turned  inside  out,  an'  then  mortified,  tu  ma- 
nured a  forty-acre  saige-field. 

"  Suckey — that's  Seize's  wife — sot  on  the  head  ove 
the  coffin,  an  the  balance  ove  hit  wer  soon  kivered  wif 
she  niggers ;  they  jis'  swarmed  ontu  the  waggin,  an'  all 
roun  hit,  an'  started.  When  they  got  intu  the  aidge  ove 
town,  ni  ontu  Wright's  doggery,  maje  begun  tu  wake 
frum  the  joltin,  an'  sot  intu  buttin  the  led  wif  his  hed, 
his  ho'ns  a-rattlin  agin  hit.  Suckey  felt  sumthin  onder 
her  she  didn't  like.  Butt  rattil  cum  up  Maje's  head 
an'  ho'ns  harder  nur  before.  Her  eyes  swelled  tu  the 
size  an'  looks  ove  hard-biled  aigs,  an'  she  ris  hersef 
ofen  the  coffin  a  littil  wif  her  bans.     '  Butt,  whosh  V  sed 


220  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

Maje,  an'  the  coffin-led  cum  up  tu  Suckey 's  starn  like 
thi  hed  been  a  loadstone  spat. 

"  '  Pete,  yu  Pete,  jis'  wo  dem  hosses,  rite  heah,  an' 
Ieff  me  off  ob  dis  wagun.'  Maje  gin  anuther  suvigrus 
butt,  an'  sed,  a-chokin  like,  '  Dis  am  tbe  debil !'  Suckey 
lit  in  tbe  road.  '  I'se  gwine  tu  my  missus,  I  is,'  sed 
Suckey,  an'  back  sbe  put,  sbakin  ber  petticoats,  an' 
pullin  em  roun  so  sbe  cud  see  tbe  bineparts  whar  tbe 
led  bed  actid  loadstone.  '  De  debil  besef  in  dat  box 
wif  Seize,  shuah,  fur  be  say  so.  1  tole  yu  dis  Seize,  I 
hes  more  time  nor  I  bes  bar ;  now  yu's  gone  an  dun 
bit,  yu  bes,'  an'  sbe  struck  a  cow  gallop  fur  borne. 

"  Butt,  cum  Maje's  bead  agin,  an'  tbar  bein  no 
Suckey  wif  ber  bundred  an'  fifty  poun  ove  soap  grease 
tu  bole  bit  down,  over  cum  tbe  led  slap.  Maje  rared 
up  on  aind.  '  "Wbosb !  dis  am  de  debil ;'  be  sed.  Tbuty 
screams  mixed  in  one,  clatterin  ove  sboes,  an'  scracbin 
ove  toe-nails,  an'  tbar  warn't  a  nigger  lef  in  site  afore  a 
stutterin  man  cud  wbisiil. 

"Now  Maje  know'd  nuffm  about  bow  be  look't,  but 
be  seed  tbe  cuffm,  an'  tbe  waggin.  Sez  be :  '  Well,  by 
golly !  dis  am  a  go  ;  gwine  tu  burry  dis  cbile,  an'  neber 
ax  'im.  Wbar  de  mourners?  Wbar  de  passun?  an 
wbar  de  corpsis  ?  dats  wbat  I  wants  tu  know.  Sum- 
fin  wrong  heah,'  an'  he  bit  bis  arm  savidge  es  a  dorg. 
'  Outcb  I  I  isn't  ded,  an'  I'se  a-cummin  outen  heah.  Dus 
yu  bear  my  b'on  ?  I  is  dat.  Datdurn  'saitful  preachin 
Simon  dun  dis ;  be  want  Sally ;  I  kill  em  bof,  de  coffin 


FKUSTKATING  A  FUNEEAL.  221 

am  redy.  Mus'  want  tu  bury  sumbody  pow'ful  bad 
Whar  wer  de  white  folks.'  Yere  lie  cummenced  a 
mons'ous  scufflin  tu  git  out.  The  hosses  look'd  roun  an 
seed  'im ;  ove  course  they  instantly  sot  intu  run  away 
strong — hit  a  postes,  an'  pitched  the  black  box  up  jn 
the  air  whar  hit  look'd  like  a  big  grasshopper  a-jumpin. 
Hit  lit  on  aind,  an'  busted  the  led  off;  out  bounced 
Maje,  an'  shakin  hissef  he  tuck  a  drunk  staggerin  look 
at  hit,  an'  sez  he,  a-moshunin  the  coffin  away  frum  him 
wif  bof  hans,  '  Sea  heah,  yu  jis  go  long  tu  de  bone- 
yard,  yu  black  debbil,  whar  yu  b'longs,  I'se  not  gwine 
wid  yu;  I  sends  Simon  tu  yu  dis  arternoon.'  An'  he 
started  fur  the  doggery. 

"  "Wright  hed  cum  tu  the  door,  an'  wer  a-lookin  an' 
a-wonderin  at  the  upraised  coffin,  when  Maje  faced  him 
an'  started  at  him  in  a  trot;  he  wanted  a  ho'n  bad. 
His  head,  ho'ns  an'  snake  penertrated  Wright's  mind 
wif  the  idear  that  hit  wer  the  devil,  an'  knowin  that  the 
ole  soot-maker  hilt  several  notes  ove  han  agin  him, 
'bout  due,  he  fix'd  it  up  that  he  wer  gwine  tu  levy 
ontu  him,  an'  he  fotch  a  coffin  tu  tote  him  home  in. 
So  he  jis'  tried  tu  dodge  the  lor.  He  jump't  the  counter 
— out  at  the  back  door,  an'  cummenced  a-litnin  line  fur 
the  mountin. 

)  "I  wer  ahine  the  doggery  in  the  thicket,  an'  I  bel- 
lered  out,  '  Stop,  Wright,  I  owes  yu  fur  a  heap  ove 
sinners ;  yu  sent  me  Seize,  yesterdav,  an'  Fse  cum  tu 
settil  fur  em.' 


222  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

"  He  wer  the  fast  man  I  ever  seed  run  fnim  a  fellei 
when  he  wanted  tu  pay  a  debt.  Durn  ole  Hark,  ef  he 
warn't  jis'  openin  a  waggin  road  thru  the  pine  thicket, 
thuty  mile  tu  the  hour.  Yu  cud  see  the  limbs  an'  littil 
rocks  a-flyin  abuv  the  trees  es  he  went,  an'  he  sounded 
like  a  hurrycane,  an'  wer  a-movin  as  fast. 

"When  I  spoke  them  words,  the  limbs  an'  littil 
rocks  farly  darkened  the  air,  an'  the  soun  got  louder 
ef  hit  wer  a  heap  furder  off.  He  wer  es  yearnist  a 
man  es  ever  run.  I  think  he  did  the  mos'  onresistabil 
runnin  I  ever  seed.  Nuffin  wer  in  his  way ;  he  jis' 
mow'd  hit  all  down  es  he  fled  frum  es  jest  a  ritribushun 
as  ever  follered  eny  dnrn'd  raskil  since  ole  Shockly 
chased  Passun  Bumpas  wif  a  shot-gun  ritribushun,  fur 
onsantifyin  his  wife." 

"Did  Shockly  catch  Bumpas,  Sut?' 

■'  I  dunno ;  He  mus'  a-run  'im  pow'ful  clost,  fur  he 
fotch  back  his  hoss,  hat,  an'  hyme  book,  an'  bof  caps  on 
his  gun  wer  busted,  an'  nobody  name  Bumpas  hes  been 
seed  'bout  thar  since,  'sceptin  sum  littil  flax-headed 
fellers  scattered  thru  the  sarkit,  wif  no  daddys,  an'  not 
much  mammys  tu  speak  ove.  Ef  I'd  a-seed  the  devil 
es  plain  es  Wright  did,  the  day  they  tried  tu  bury 
Seize,  an'  didn't,  I'd  a-ax'd  him ;  he  knows  whether 
Shockly  cotch  Bumpas,  ur  not. 

"Well,  Maje  cum  blowin  mad  intu  the  doggery,  an 
seein  nobody,  he  jis'  grabbed  a  bottil,  an'  tuck  hissef  a 
buckloacl  ove  popskull^  an'  sKp't  the  bottil  intu  his 


FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL.  223 

pocket  Es  he  raised  his  orful  head  from  duin  this,  he 
seed  hissef  for  the  fust  time  in  a  big  lookin-glass.  He 
took  hit  tu  be  a  winder,  an'  tho't  what  he  seed  wer  in 
tuther  room,  a-watohin  him.  '  Yu — yu  jis'  lef  me  lone; 
I'se  not  yourn  ;  IV longs  tu  meeting  sed  Maje,  as  he  back'd 
hissef  to'ards  the  door.  As  he  back'd,  so  did  the  tary- 
fyin  picter.  Maje  seed  that.  '  Gwine  tu  take  a  runnin 
butt,  is  yu,'  sed  Maje,  as  he  fell  a  back  summerset  intu 
the  street ;  as  he  lit,  I  groaned  out  at  him :  '  Major,  my 
son,  I'se  cum  fur  the  toll  outen  ole  Hunicutt's  co'n.' 
'  Simon  dun  got  dat  toll,'  sed  Maje,  sorter  sham'd  like. 

"  He  rLz,  showin  a  far  sampil  ove  skared  nigger  run- 
nin 'Ho'ns  an'  buttin  go  tugether,  an'  dat  am  de 
debil  in  dar,'  sed  Maje  tu  hissef  I  holler' d  'Leave 
Wright's  bottil ;  yu  don't  want  hit,  FIX  gin  yu  hotter 
truck  nur  hit  is ;  I'se  farly  arter  yu  now.'  I  seed  the 
bottil  fly  over  Maje's  shoulder,  an'  lite  in  the  san.  I  got 
hit,  I  did. 

"  He  made  down  street  fur  the  river,  an'  clear'd  the 
road  ove  every  livin  thing.  "Wimen  went  head-fust 
intu  the  houses,  doors  slam'd,  sash  fell,  cats'  tails 
swell'd  es  they  treed  onder  stabils,  Maje  jis'  a-tarin 
along,  his  ho'ny  head  throw'd  back,  an'  his  elbows 
a-workin  like  a  par  ove  skeer'd  saw-mills  runnin  empty. 
I  seed  him  fling  sum  thin  over  his  head.  I  tho't  hit 
wer  anuther  bottil,  an'  went  fur  hit,  but  hit  wer  nuffin 
but  a  greasy  testemint. 

"Ole  Dozier,  the  sheriff,  what  hed  bung  a  nigget 


224  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

name  Pomp,  'bout  ten  days  afore,  cum  outen  a  cross 
street,  jis'  ahead  ove  Maje,  a-totin  his  big  belly,  a  han 
ful  ove  papers,  an'  a  quill  in  his  mouf,  in  a  deep  study. 
He  hearn  the  soun  ove  Maje's  huffs,  an'  look'd  rouru 
As  he  did,  I  shouted,  'Bun,  sheriff,  that's  Pomp,  an' 
yere's  his  coffin,'  a-pintin  tu  hit. 

"  George,  my  'sperience  is  that  sheriffs,  an'  lor  officers 
giner'lly,  onderstands  the  bisness  ove  runnin  better 
nur  mos'  folks,  enyhow,  an'  durn  my  shut  ef  ole  Dozier 
didn't  jis'  then  sustain  the  kar-acter  ove  the  tribe 
mons'ous  well. 

"He  hes  pow'ful  presence  ove  mind  too,  fur  I'd 
scarcely  sed  'coffin,'  afore  he  wer  at  the  top  ove  his 
speed  to'ards  the  river.  Now  Maje,  like  most  durn'd 
white  fools,  b'leved  the  sheriff  tu  be  greater  nur  eny' 
body,  an'  hed  the  power  tu  du  enything.  So  a  idear 
got  onder  his  ho'ns,  an'  ahine  his  eyes,  that  Dozier  cud 
help  him  sumhow,  tu  git  rid  ove  the  chasin  devil,  an' 

he  holler'd    'Marster    Dozier '   Dozier   drap't    his 

quill.  '  Marster  Sheriff-- — '  Sheriff  lef  loose  a  cloud 
ove  flyin  papers  in  the  Vind.  '  Stop  dar,  I  hes  a  word 
wid  yu.' 

"Dozier  run  outen  hig  hat  an'  specks  wif  a  jerk,  an' 
I  seed  his  dinner  tub  a-f  wingin  out  each  side  ove  him 
like  a  bag  wif  a  skarecf  dorg  intu  hit,  every  lope  he 
made.  I  galloped  catk  vrner'd  across  lots,  an'  got  in  a 
paw-paw  thicket  on  the  bank  ove  the  river,  afore  they 
got  roun  thar ;  as  Dozier  srhizz'd  by,  the  sweat  flyin  ofeu 


FRUSTRATING  A    FUNEEAL.  225 

his  head  in  all  direcshuns,  like  warter  ofen  a  numin 
grindstone.     I    spoke    tu   him    in   a   mournful   way: 
'  Sheriff,  yu're  time  am  cum,  he's  got  a  rope.1 
•    "Durn   ef  he   didn't  sheer,  outen  the  road  like  a 
skeer'd  hoss,  an'  went  ofen  the  bluff,  frog  fashun,  intu 
the  river — an'  dove.     The  waves  washed  up  on  tuther 
bank,  three  foot  high ;  a  steamboat  cudn't  hev  dun  hit 
better,  an'  es  good  a  growin  rain  fell,  fur  five  minnits, 
as  wer  ever  prayed  fur,  an'   not  a  cloud  tu  be  seed 
that  day.     Yere  cum   Maje,  his  eyes   an'  thar  stripes 
like  buggy  wheels,  wif  red  lamps  in  the  hubs.)   Sez  I, 
'Yere  I  is,  clost  tu  yu're  starn;   I  mus1  hev  my  toll 
co'n.'     Durn  ole  Paddilford,  ef  he  didn't  play  skeered 
hoss  better  nur  Dozier  did,  fur  he  lit  furder  in  the  river, 
an'  we  hed  anuther  refreshin  shower ;  but  I  swar,  I  tho't 
hit  smelt  ove  whisky.     Bof  on   em   wer   swimin   fur 
tuther  bank,  like  ole  otters.     The  sheriff's  hot  head  wer 
smokin  like  a  tub  ove  bil'd  shuts,  an'  Maje's  look'd  like 
black  bull  yearlin's,  jis'  a-bilin  thru  the  warter.     Es 
ole  Dozier  trotted  drippin  up  the  bank,  I  yell'd :  '  Eise 
sheriff,  he's  a-reachin  fur  yu  wif  his  rope,  ari  hits  got  a 
runnin  noose.''     He  look'd  over  his   shoulder  an'  seed 
the  bull  yearlin's  head  clost  in  shore,  an'  a-cummin. 
He  jis'  rained  san  an'  gravil  intu  the  river,  frum  his 
heels,  an'  went  outen  site  in  the  tall  weeds.     As  Maje 
went  up  the  bank,  I  call'd  tu   him,  'Major,  my  son, 
what's  Wright's  bottil?'     I  seed  him  feel  on  his  coat- 
tail  ;  the  durned  nigger  hed  forgot  flingin  hit  ov<ir  his 
10* 


226  FRUSTRATING  A  FUNERAL. 

head,  an'  he  tuck  the  sheriffs  trail,  like  ontu  a  houn. 
I  tuck  a  good  holesum  pull  outen  that  bottil,  an'  tho't 
what  a  durn'd  discumfortin  thing  a  big  skeer  is. 

"  Plenty  peopil  am  redy  tu  swar  that  they  seed  the 
devil  chasin  Dozier,  plum  tu  the  mountin,  an'  one  ole 
'oman,  a-givin  in  her  sperience  at  meetin,  sed  she  seed 
him  ketch  him,  an'  eat  him  plum  up.  She  tole  a 
durn'd  lie,  I  speck. 

"I  performed  two  christshun  jutys  that  night.  I 
stole  the  coffin,  an'  buried  Seize  out  in  the  woods  whar 
I'd  hid  him,  an'  his  rale  grave  stans  open  yet,  the  bes' 
frog-trap  yu  ever  seed.  See  the  orful  consekenses  ove 
bein  skeery  when  a  nigger  dies.  Hunicutt  gone; 
Seize's  corpse  los',  doctor  gone,  passun  gone,  sheriff  gone, 
an'  tu  cap  the  stack  ove  vexashus  things,  the  doggery 
keeper  gone.  Why,  the  county's  ruinated,  an'  hits 
haunted  yet  wif  all  sorts  ove  orful  haunts  ;  yu  ken  buy 
land  thar  fur  a  dime  a  acre,  on  tick  at  that." 

"What  became  of  Mrs.  Hunicutt,  and  Mrs.  Loftin, 
Sut?" 

"  Oh !  es  tu  em,  Missis  Hunicutt  is  playin  widder, 
in  red  ribbons,  an'  Missis  Loftin's  jin'd  meetin. 

"  I'se  forgot  sumthin ;  what  am  hit  ?  Oh !  I  minds 
now ;  'twer  that  tuther  christshun  juty  I  performed.  I 
minister'd  ontu  Wright's  doggery,  an'  run  hit  till  the 
grass  burn't  up,  when  hit  went  dry.  I  wish  hit  mout 
hev  a  calf  soon. 


RARE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED. 


"  I  tell  yu  now,  I  minds  my  fust  big  skeer  jis'  ea 
well  as  rich  boys  minds  thar  fast  boots,  ur  seein  the 
fust  spotted  hoss  sirkis.  The  red  top  ove  them  boots 
am  still  a  rich  red  stripe  in  thar  minds,  an'  the  burnin 
red  ove  my  fust  skeer  hes  lef  es  deep  a  scar  ontu  my 
thinkin  works.  Mam  hed  me  a  standin  atwixt  her 
knees.  I  kin  feel  the  knobs  ove  her  jints  a-rattlin 
a-pas'  my  ribs  yet  She  didn't  hev  much  petticoats  tu 
speak  ove,  an'  I  hed  but  one,  an'  hit  wer  calliker  slit 
frum  the  nap  ove  my  naik  tu  the  tail,  hilt  tugether  at 
the  top  wif  a  draw-string,  an'  at  the  bottom  by  the 
hem ;  hit  wer  the  handiest  close  I  ever  seed,  an'  wud 
be  pow'ful  cumfurtin  in  summer  if  hit  warn't  fur  the 
flies.  Ef  they  was  good  tu  run  in,  I'd  war  one  yet 
They  beats  pasted  shuts,  an'  britches,  es  bad  es  a 
feather  bed  beats  a  bag  ove  warnut  shells  fur  sleepin 
on. 

"Say,  George,  wudn't  yu  like  tu  see  me  intu  one 
'bout  haf  fadid,  slit,  an'  a-walkin  jis'  so,  up  the  middil 


228  KAEE  .TtfPE  GAKDEN-SEED. 

street  ove  yure  city  clinch,  a-aimin  fur  yure  pew 
pen,  an'  hit  chock  full  ove  ynre  fine  city  gal  friends, 
jis'  arter  the  peopil  hed  sot  down  frnm  the  fust  prayer, 
an'  the  orgin  begin/ a  tu  groan;  what  wud  yu  du  in 
sich  a  margincy  ?  say  hoss  ?" 

"  Why,  I'd  shoot  yon  dead,  Monday  morning  before 
eight  o'clock,"  was  my  reply. 

"Well,  I  speck  yu  wud;  but  yu'd  take  a  rale  ole 
maid  faint  fus,  rite  amung  them  ar  gals.  Lordy! 
wudn't  yu  be  shamed  ove  me !  Yit  why  not  ten 
chuch  in  sich  a  suit,  when  yu  hesn't  got  no  store 
clothes  ? 

"  Well,  es  I  Tver  sayin,  mam  wer  feedin  us  brats 
ontu  mush  an'  milk,  wifout  the  milk,  an'  es  I  wer  the 
baby  then,  she  hilt  me  so  es  tu  see  that  I  got  my  sheer. 
Whar  thar  ain't  enuf  feed,  big  childer  roots  littil  childer 
outen  the  troff,  an'  gobbils  up  thar  part.  Jis'  so  the 
yeath  over:  bishops  eats  elders,  elders  eats  common 
peopil ;  they  eats  sioh  cattil  es  me,  I  eats  possums,  pos- 
sums eats  chickins,  chickins  s wallers  wums,  an'  wums 
am  content  tu  eat  dus,  an'  the  dus  am  the  aind  ove  hit 
all.  Hit  am  all  es  regOur  es  the  so'ans  frum  the  tribil 
down  tu  the  bull  base  eve  a  fiddil  ir  good  tchune,  an' 
I  speck  hit  am  right,  ur  h?t  wudn't  be  'lowed. 

"  '  The  sheriff  f  his'd  mam  in  a  keen  fcrimblin  whis- 
per; hit  sounded  tu  me  like  the  skreech  ove  a  hen 
when  she  sez  '  hawk,'  tu  her  little  roun-sfrtf*t\'d,  fuzzy, 
bead-eyed,  stripid-backs. 


EAEE  RIPE   GARDEN-SEED.  229 

"I  actid  jis'  adzacly  as  they  dus;  I  darted  on  all 
fours  onder  mam's  petticoatails,  an'  thar  I  met,  face  tu 
face,  the  wooden  bowl,  an'  the  mush,  an'  the  spoon 
what  she  slid  onder  frum  tuther  side.  I'se  mad  at  my- 
sef  yet,  fur  rite  thar  I  show'd  the  fust  flash  ove  the 
nat'ral  born  dura  fool  what  I  now  is.  I  orter  et  hit  all 
up,  in  jestis  tu  my  stumick  an'  my  growin,  while  the 
sheriff  wer  levyin  ontu  the  bed  an'  the  cheers.  Tu  this 
day,  ef  enybody  sez  '  sheriff,'  I  feels  skeer,  an'  ef  I  hears 
constabil  menshun'd,  my  laigs  goes  thru  runnin  mo- 
shuns,  even  ef  I  is  asleep.  Did  yu  ever  watch  a  dorg 
dreamin  ove  rabbit  huntin  ?  Thems  the  moshuns,  an' 
the  feelin  am  the  rabbit's. 

"  Sherifs  am  orful  'spectabil  peopil ;  everybody  looks 
up  tu  em.  I  never  adzacly  seed  the  'spectabil  part 
mysef.  I'se  too  fear'd  ove  em,  I  reckon,  tu  'zamin  fur 
hit  much.  One  thing  I  knows,  no  country  atwix 
yere  an'  Tophit  kin  ever  'lect  me  tu  sell  out  widders' 
plunder,  ur  poor  men's  co'n,  an'  the  tho'ts  ove  hit  gins 
me  a  good  feelin ;  hit  sorter  flashes  thru  my  heart  when 
I  thinks  ove  hit  I  axed  a  passun  onst,  whan  hit  cud 
be,  an'  he  pernounced  hit  tu  be  onregenerit  pride,  what 
I  orter  squelch  in  prayer,  an'  in  tendin  chuch  on  colleck- 
shun  days.  I  wer  in  hopes  hit  mout  be  'ligion,  ur 
sence,  a-soakin  intu  me ;  hit  feels  good,  enyhow,  an'  I 
don't  keer  ef  every  suckit  rider  outen  jail  knows  hit. 
Sheriffs'  shuts  allers  hes  nettil  dus  ur  fleas  inside  ove 
em  when  they  lies  down  tu  sleep,  an'  I'se  glad  ove  hit, 


230  BARE  EIPE   GARDEN-SEED. 

fur  they'se  allers  discamfortin  me,  durn  em.  I  scarcely 
ever  git  tu  drink  a  ho'n,  ur  eat  a  mess  in  peace.  I'll 
hurt  one  sum  day,  see  ef  I  don't  Show  me  a  sheriff 
a-steppin  softly  roun,  an'  a-sorter  sightin  at  me,  an'  I'll 
show  yu  a  far  sampil  ove  the  speed  ove  a  express  in- 
gine,  fired  up  wif  rich,  dry,  rosiny  skeers.  They  don't 
ketch  me  much,  usin  only  human  laigs  es  wepuns. 

"  Ole  John  Doltin  wer  a  'spectabil  sheriff,  monsusly 
so,  an'  hed  the  bes'  scent  fur  poor  fugatif  devils,  an' 
wimen,  I  ever  seed ;  he  wer  sure  fire.  Well,  he  toted 
a  warrun  fur  this  yere  skinful  ove  durn'd  fool,  'bout 
that  ar  misfortnit  nigger  meetin  bisness,  ontil  he  wore 
hit  intu  six  seperit  squar  bits,  an'  hed  wore  out  much 
shoe  leather  a-chasin  ove  me.  I'd  foun  a  doggery  in 
full  milk,  an'  hated  pow'ful  bad  tu  leave  that  settilment 
while  hit  suck'd  free ;  so  I  sot  intu  sorter  try  an'  wean 
him  off  frum  botherin  me  so  much.  I  suckseedid  so 
well  that  he  not  only  quit  racin  ove  me,  an'  wimen,  but 
he  wer  tetotaly  spiled  es  as  a  sheriff,  an'  los'  the  'specta- 
bil seckshun  ove  his  karacter.  Tu  make  yu  fool  fellers 
onderstan  how  hit  wer  done,  I  mus'  interjuice  yure 
minds  tu  one  Wat  Mastin,  a  bullit-headed  yung  black- 
smith. 

"  Well,  las'  year — no  hit  wer  the  year  afore  las' — in 
struttin  an'  gobblin  time,  Wat  felt  his  keepin  right 
warm,  so  he  sot  intu  bellerin  an'  pawin  up  dus  in  the 
neighborhood  roun  the  ole  widder  McKildrin's.  The 
more  dus  he  flung  up,  the  wus  he  got,  ontil  at  las'  he 


RARE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED.  231 

jis  didn't  stan  the  ticklin  sensashuns  anutner  minnit ; 
so  he  put  fur  the  county  court  clark's  offis,  wif  his  hans 
sock'd  down  deep  intu  his  britchis  pockets,  like  he  wer 
fear'd  ove  pick-pockets,  his  back  roach'd  roun,  an' 
a-chonrpin  his  teef  ontil  he  splotch'd  his  whiskers  wif 
foam.  Oh !  he  wer  yearnis'  hot,  an'  es  restless  es  a 
cockroach  in  a  hot  skillit." 

"What  was  the  matter  with  this  Mr.  Mastin?  I 
cannot  understand  you,  Mr.  Lovingood;  had  he  hy- 
drophobia?" remarked  a  man  in  a  square-tail  coat,  and 
cloth  gaiters,  who  was  obtaining  subscribers  for  some 
forthcoming  Encyclopedia  of  Useful  Knowledge,  who 
had  quartered  at  our  camp,  uninvited,  and  really 
unwanted. 

"What  du  yu  mean  by  high-dry -f oby ?"  and  Sut 
looked  puzzled. 

"  A  madness  produced  by  being  bit  by  some  rabid 
animal,"  explained  Square-tail,  in  a  pompous  manner. 

"Yas,  hoss,  he  hed  high-dry-foby  orful,  an'  Mary 
McKildrin,  the  widder  McKildrin's  only  darter,  hed 
gin  him  the  complaint ;  I  don't  know  whether  she  bit 
'im  ur  not ;  he  mout  a-cotch  hit  frum  her  bref,  an'  he 
wer  now  in  the  roach  back,  chompin  stage  ove  the 
sickness,  so  he  wer  arter  the  dark  fur  a  tickit  tu  the 
hospital.  Well,  the  dark  sole  'im  a  piece  ove  paper, 
part  printin  an'  part  ritin,  wif  a  picter  ove  two  pigs' 
hearts,  what  sum  boy  hed  shot  a  arrer  thru,  an'  lef  hit 
etickin,  printed  at  the  top.     That  paper  wer  a  splicin 


J 


232  RAEE  BIPE   GARDEN-SEED. 

pass — sum  calls  hit  a  par  ove  licins — an'  that  very  nite 
he  tuck  Mary,  fur  better,  fur  wus,  tu  hev  an'  tu  hole 
tu  him  his  heirs,  an' " 

"  Allow  me  to  interrupt  you,"  said  our  guest ;  "  you 
do  not  quote  the  marriage  ceremony  correctly." 

"  Yu  go  tu.  hell,  mistofer ;  yu  bothers  me." 

This  outrageous  rebuff  took  the  stranger  all  aback, 
and  he  sat  down. 

"  Whar  wer  I  ?  Oh  yas,  he  married  Mary  tight  an' 
fas',  an'  nex  day  he  wer  abil  tu  be  about.  His  coat 
tho',  an'  his  trousis  look'd  jis'  a  skrimshun  too  big, 
loose  like,  an'  heavy  tu  tote.  I  axed  him  ef  he  felt 
soun.  He  sed  yas,  but  he'd  welded  a  steamboat  shaftez 
the  day  afore,  an'  wer  sorter  tired  like.  Thar  he  tole  a 
durn  lie,  fur  he'd  been  a-ho'nin  up  dirt  mos'  ove  the 
day,  roun  the  widder's  garden,  an'  bellerin  in  the  orch- 
ard. Mary  an'  him  sot  squar  intu  hous'-keepin,  an' 
'mung  uther  things  he  bot  a  lot  ove  rar  ripe  garden-seed, 
frum  a  Yankee  peddler.  Rar  ripe  co'n,  rar  ripe  peas, 
rar  ripe  taters,  rar  ripe  everything,  an'  the  two  yung 
durn'd  fools  wer  dreadfully  exercis'd  'bout  hit  Wat  s«d 
he  ment  tu  git  him  a  rar  ripe  hammer  an'  anvil,  an'  Mary 
vow'd  tu  grashus,  that  she'd  hev  a  rar  ripe  wheel  an' 
loom,  ef  money  wud  git  em.  Purty  soon  arter  he  hed 
made  the  garden,  he  tuck  a  noshun  tu  work  a  spell 
down  tu  Ataylanty,  in  the  railroad  shop,  es  he  sed  he  hed 
a  sorter  ailin  in  his  back,  an'  he  tho't  weldin  rail  car-tire 
an1  ingine  axiltrees,  wer  lighter  work   nur  sharpinin 


BABE  RIPE  GABDEN-SEED.  233 

plows,  an'  puttin  lap-links  in  trace-chains.  So  down 
lie  went,  an'  foun  nit  agreed  wif'him,  fur  he  didn't  euro 
back  ontil  the  middil  ove  August  The  fust  thing  he 
seed  when  he  landid  intu  his  cabin-door,  wer  a  shoe- 
box  wif  rockers  onder  hit,  an'  the  nex  thing  he  seed, 
wer  Mary  hersef,  propped  up  in  bed,  an'  the  nex  thing 
he  seed  arter  that,  wer  a  par  ove  littil  rat-eyes  a-shinin 
abuv  the  aind  ove  the  quilt,  ontu  Mary's  arm,  an'  the 
nex  an'  las'  thing  he  seed  wer  the  two  littil  rat-eyes 
aforesed,  a-turnin  intu  two  hundred  thousand  big  green 
stars,  an'  a-swingin  roun  an'  roun  the  room,  faster  an' 
faster,  ontil  they  mix'd  intu  one  orful  green  flash.  He 
drap't  intu  a  limber  pile  on  the  floor.  The  durn'd 
fool  what  hed  weldid  the  steamboat  shaftez  hed  fainted 
safe  an'  soun  es  a  gal  skeered  at  a  mad  bull.  Mary 
fotch  a  weak  cat-scream,  an'  kivered  her  head,  an'  sot 
intu  work  ontu  a  whifflin  dry  cry,  while  littil  Kat-eyes 
gin  hitssef  up  tu  suckin.  Cryin  an'  suckin  bof  at  onst 
ain't  far ;  mus'  cum  pow'ful  strainin  on  the  wet  seck- 
shun  ove  an'  'oman's  constitushun ;  yet  hit  am  ofen 
dun,  an'  more  too.  Ole  Missis  McKildrin,  what  wer 
a-nussin  Mary,  jis'  got  up  frum  knittin,  an'  flung  a  big 
gourd  ove  warter  squar  intu  Wat's  face,  then  she  fotch 
a  glass  bottil  ove  swell-skull  whisky  outen  the  three- 
cornered  cupboard,  an'  stood  furnint  "Wat,  a-holdin  hit 
in  wun  han,  an'  the  tin-cup  in  tuther,  waitin  fur  Wat 
tu  cum  to.  She  wer  the  piusses  lookin  ole  'oman  jis' 
then,  yu  ever  seed  outside  ove  a  prayer-meetin,     Arter 


234  EAEE  EIPE  GAEDEN-SEED. 

a  spell,  Wat  begun  tu  move,  twitchin  his  fingers,  an' 
battin  bis  eyes,  sorter  'stonisbed  like.  That  pius  looMn 
statue  sed  tu  bim : 

"  '  My  son,  jis'  take  a  drap  ove  sperrits,  honey.  Yu'se 
very  sick,  dumplin ,  don't  take  on  darlin,  ef  yu  kin 
belp  bit,  ducky,  far  poor  Margarit  Jane  am  mons'ous 
ailin,  an'  tbe  leas'  nise  ur  takin  on  •will  kill  tbe  poor 
sufferin  dear,  an'  yu'll  loose  yure  tuckil  ducky  duv  ove 
a  sweet  wifey,  arter  all  sbe's  dun  gone  thru  fur  yu.  My 
dear  son  "Watty,  yu  mus'  consider  her  feelins  a  littil.' 
Sez  Wat,  a-turnin  up  his  eyes  at  that  vartus  ole  relick, 
sorter  sick  like — 

"  '  I  is  a-considerin  em  a  heap,  rite  now  ' 
"  '  Oh  that's  right,  my  good  kine  child.' 
"  Oh  dam  ef  ole  muther-in-lors  can't  plaster  humbug 
over  a  feller,  jis'  es  saft  an'  easy  es  they  spreads  a  cam- 
rick  banketcher  over  a  three  hour  ole  baby's  face ;  yu 
don't  feel  bit  at  all,  but  hit  am  thar,  a  plum  inch  thick, 
an'  stickin  fas  es  court-plaster.  She  raised  Wat's  head, 
an'  sot  the  aidge  ove  the  tin  cup  agin  his  lower  teef,  an' 
turned  up  the  bottim  slow  an'  keerful,  a-winkin  at 
Mary,  bu  wer  a-peepin  over  the  aidge  ove  the  coverlid, 
tu  see  ef  Wat  tuck  the  perskripshun,  fur  a  heap  ove 
famerly  cumfort  'pended  on  that  ar  ho'n  ove  sperrits. 
Wun  ho'n  allers  saftens  a  man,  the  yeath  over.  Wat 
keep  a-battin  his  eyes,  wus  nur  a  owl  in  daylight ;  at  las' 
he  raised  hissef  ontu  wun  elbow,  an'  rested  bis  head  in 
that  ban,  sorter  weak  like.    Sez  he,  mons'ous  tvimblin  an' 


BABE  EIPE  GAEDEN-SEED.  235 

slow :    '  Aprile — May — June — July — an'    mos' — haf— 
ove — August,'  a-countin  the  munths  ontu  the  fingers 
ove  tuther  han,  wif  the  thumb,  a-shakin  ove  his  head, 
an'  lookin  at  his  spread  fingers  like  they  warut  his'n, 
ur  they  wer  nastied  wif  sumfin.     Then  he  counted  em 
agin,    slower,    Aprile — May — June — July — an',     mos' 
haf  ove  August,  an'  he  run  his  thumb  atwixt  his  fin- 
gers, es  meanin  mos'  haf  ove  August,  an'  look'd  at  the 
pint  ove  hit,  like  hit  mout  be  a  snake's  head.     He  raised 
his  eyes  tu  the  widder's  face,  who  wer  standin  jis'  es 
steady  es   a   hitchin  pos',   an'  still   a-warin   that  pius 
'spression   ontu  her  pussonal  feturs,  an'   a*  flood   ove 
saft  luv  fur  Wat,  a-shinin    strait  frum   her    eyes  intu 
his'n.     Sez  he,  '  That  jis'  makes  four  munths,  an'  mos' 
a  half,  don't  hit,  Missis  McKildrin?'     She   never  sed 
one  word.     "Wat  reached  fur  the  hath,  an'  got  a  dead 
fire-coal ;  then  he  made  a   mark   clean  acrost  a  floor- 
plank.     Sez  he,  '  Aprile,'  a-holdin  down  the  coal  ontu 
the  aind  ove  the  mark,  like   he  wer  fear'd  hit   mout 
blow  away  afore  he  got  hit  christened  Aprile.     Sez  he, 
'  May' — an'  he  marked  across  the  board  agin  ;  then  he 
counted  the  marks,  one,  two,  a-dottin  at  em  wif  the 
coal.     'June,'    an'   he   marked   agin,  one,  two,  three; 
counted  wif  the  pint  ove  the  coal.     He  scratched  his 
head  wif  the  littil  finger  ove  the  han  holdin  the  char- 
coal, an'  he  drawed  hit  slowly  acrost  the  board  agin, 
peepin   onder   his   wrist  tu  see  when  hit  reached  the 
crack,  an'  sez  he  'July,'  es  he  lifted  the  coal ;  'one,  two 


236  RAKE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED. 

three,  four,'  countin  frum  lef  tu  right,  an'  then  frum 
right  tu  lef.  '  That  haint  but  four,  no  way  I  kin  fix 
hit.  Ole  Pike  hissef  cudn't  make  hit  five,  ef  he  wer  tu 
sifer  ontu  hit  ontil  his  laigs  turned  intu  figger  eights.' 
Then  he  made  a  mark,  haf  acrost  a  plank,  spit  on  his 
finger,  an'  rubbed  off  a  haf  inch  ove  the  aind,  an'  sez 
he,  '  Mos'  haf  ove  August.  He  looked  up  at  the  wid- 
der,  an'  thar  she  wer,  same  es  ever,  still  a-holdin  the 
flask  agin  her  bussum,  an'  sez  he  '  Four  months,  an' 
mos'  a  haf.  Haint  enuf,  is  hit  mammy  f  hits  jis'  'bout 
(lac kin  a  littil)  hafenuf,  haint  hit,  mammy  ?' 

"  Missis  McKildrin  shuck  her  head  sorter  onsartin 
like,  an'  sez  she,  '  Take  a  drap  more  sperrits,  Watty, 
my  dear  pet ;  dus  yu  mine  buyin  that  ar  rar  ripe  seed, 
frum  the  peddler?'  "Wat  nodded  his  head,  an'  looked 
'what  ove  hit,'  but  didn't  say  hit. 

"  '  This  is  what  cums  ove  hit,  an'  four  months  an'  a 
haf  am  rar  ripe  time  fur  babys,  adzackly.  Tu  be  sure, 
hit  lacks  a  day  ur  two,  but  Margarit  Jane  wer  allers  a 
pow'ful  interprizin  gal,  an'  a  yearly  rizer.'     Sez  Wat, 

"  '  How  about  the  'taters  ?' 

"  'Oh,  we  et  'taters  es  big  es  goose  aigs,  afore  ole 
Missis  Collinze's  blossomed.' 

"  'How 'bout  co'n?' 

';  '  Oh,  we  shaved  down  roasin  years  afore  hern  ta» 
sel'd ' 

"  'An' peas?' 

"  'Yes  son,  we  hed  gobs   an'  lots   in  three  weeks 


EAEE  EIPE  GAEDEN-SEED.  237 

Everything  cums  in  adzackly  half  the  time  that  hit 
takes  the  ole  sort,  an'  yu  knows,  my  darlin  son,  yu 
planted  hit  waseful.  I  tho't  then  yu'd  rar  ripe  every- 
thing on  the  place.  Yu  planted  often,  too,  didn't  yu 
luv  ?  fur  fear  hit  wudn't  cum  up.' 

"  'Ye-ye-s-s  he — he  did,'  sed  Mary  a-cryin.  "Wat 
studied  pow'ful  deep  a  spell,  an'  the  widder  jis'  waited. 
Widders  allers  wait,  an'  allers  win.  At  las,  sez  he, 
'  Mammy.'  She  looked  at  Mary,  an'  winked  these  yere 
words  at  her,  es  plain  es  she  cud  a-talked  em.  'Yu 
hearn  him  call  me  mammy  twiste.  I'se  got  him,  now. 
His  back-bone's  a-limberin  fas',  he'll  own  the  baby  yet, 
see  ef  he  don't.  Jis'  hole  still  my  darter,  an'  let  yer 
mammy  knead  this  dough,  then  yu  may  bake  hit  es 
brown  es  yu  please.' 

"  'Mammy,  when  I  married   on   the   fust  day  ove 

Aprile  ' The  widder  look'd  oneasy ;  she  tho't  he 

mout  be  a-cupplin  that  day,  his  weddin,  an'  the  idear, 
dam  fool,  tugether.  But  he  warn't,  fur  he  sed  '  That  day 
I  gin  ole  man  Collins  my  note  ove  han  fur  a  hundred 
dullars,  jew  in  one  year  arter  date,  the  balluns  on  this 
Ian.  Dus  yu  think  that  ar  seed  will  change  the  time 
eny,  ur  will  hit  alter  the  amount  V  An'  Wat  looked  at 
her  powerful  ankshus.  She  raised  the  whisky  bottil 
way  abuv  her  head,  wif  her  thumb  on  the  mouf,  an' 
fotch  the  bottim  down  ontu  her  han,  spat.  Sez  she, 
'Watty,  my  dear  b'lovid  son,  pripar  tu  pay  two  hun- 
dred dullars  'bout  the  fust  ove  October,  fur  hit'll  be 


238  BARE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED. 

jew  jis'  then,  es  sure  es  that  littil  black-eyed  angel  in 
the  bed  thar,  am  yer  darter.5 

"  Wat  drap't  his  head,  an'  sed,  '  Then  hits  a  dam  sure 
thing?  Eite  yere,  the  baby  fotch  a  rattlin  loud  squall, 
(I  speck  Mary  wer  sorter  figetty  jis'  then,  an'  hurt  hit.) 
'  Yas,'  sez  Wat,  a-wallin  a  red  eye  to'ards  the  bed ;  '  my 
littil  she — what  wer  hit  yu  called  her  name,  mammy  ?' 
'  I  called  her  a  sweet  littil  angel,  an'  she  is  won,  es  sure 
es  yu  re  her  daddy,  my  b'loved  son.'  '  Well,'  sez  Wat, 
'  my  littil  sweet,  patent  rar  ripe  she  angel,  ef  yu  lives 
tu  marryin  time,  yu'll  'stonish  sum  man  body  outen 
his  shut,  ef  yu  don't  rar  ripe  lose  hits  vartu  arter  the 
fust  plantin,  that's  all.'  He  rared  up  on  aind,  wif  his 
mouf  pouch'd  out  He  had  a  pow'ful  torrid,  fur- 
reachin,  bread  funnel,  enyhow — cud  a-bit  the  aigs 
outen  a  catfish,  in  two-foot  warter,  wifout  wettin  his 
eyebrows.  '  Dod  durn  rar  ripe  seed,  an'  rar  ripe  ped- 
lers,  an'  rar  ripe  notes  tu  the  hottes'  corner  ove ' 

"  '  Stop  Watty,  darlin,  don't  swar  ;  'member  yu  be- 
longs tu  meetin.' 

"  '  My  blacksmith's  fire,'  ainded  Wat,  an'  he  studied 
a  long  spell ;  sez  he, 

"  'Did  you  save  eny  ove  that  infunnel  doubil-trigger 
seed?'  'Yas,'  sez  the  widder,  'thar  in  that  bag  by  the 
cupboard.  Wat  got  up  ofen  the  floor,  tuck  a  countin  sor- 
ter look  at  the  charcoal  marks,  an'  reached  down  the 
bag;  he  went  tu  the  door  an'  called  'Suke,  muleyj 
Suke,  Suke,  cow,  chick,  chick,  chicky  chick.1     '  What's 


EAEE  BIPE  GAEDEN-SEED.  239 

yu  gwine  tu  du  now,  my  dear  son?'  sed  Missis  McKil- 
drin.  '  I'se  jis'  gwine  tu  feed  this  actif  smart  truck  tu 
the  cow,  an'  the  hens,  that's  what  I'se  gwine  tu  du 
Ole  muley  haint  hed  a  calf  in  two  years,  an'  I'll  eat 
sum  rar  ripe  aigs.'  Mary  now  venter'd  tu  speak: 
'  Husban,  I  ain't  sure  hit'll  work  on  hens  ;  cum  an'  kiss 
me  my  luv.'  'I  haint  sure  hit'll  work  on  hens,  either,' 
sed  Wat.  '  They's  powerful  onsartin  in  thar  ways,  well 
es  wimen,'  an'  he  fiung  out  a  hanful  spiteful  like.  Takin 
the  rar  ripe  invenshun  all  tugether,  frum  'taters  an'  peas 
tu  notes  ove  han,  an'  childer,  I  can't  say  I  likes  hit  - 
much,'  an'  he  flung  out  anuther  hanful.  'Yer  mam 
hed  thuteen  the  ole  way,  an'  ef  this  truck  stays  'bout 
the  hous',  yu'se  good  fur  twenty-six,  maybe  thuty,  fur 
yu'se  a  pow'ful  interprizin  gal,  yer  mam  sez,'  an'  he 
flung  out  anuther  hanful,  overhandid,  es  hard  es  ef  he 
wer  flingin  rocks  at  a  stealin  sow.  '  Make  yere  mine 
easy,'  sed  the  widder ;  '  hit  never  works  on  married 
folks  only  the  fust  time.'  '  Say  them  words  agin,'  sed 
Wat,  '  I'se  glad  tu  hear  em.  Is  hit  the  same  way  wif 
notes  ove  han  ?'  '  I  speck  hit  am,'  answer'd  the  widder, 
wif  jis'  a  taste  ove  strong  vinegar  in  the  words,  es  she 
sot  the  flask  in  the  cupboard  wif  a  push. 

"Jis'  then  ole  Doltin,  the  sheriff,  rid  up,  an'  started 
'stonished  when  he  seed  Wat,  but  he,  quick  es  an  'oman 
kin  hide  a  strange  hat,  drawed  the  puckerin-string  ove 
that  legil  face  ove  his'n,  an'  fotch  hit  up  tu  the  '  know'd 
yu  wer  at  home,'  sorter  look,  an'  wishin  Wat  mucb  joy. 


240  RARE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED. 

sed  he'd  fotch  the  baby  a  present,  a  par  ove  red  shoes, 
an'  a  calliker  dress,  fur  the  luv  he  bore  hits  granmam. 
Missis  McKildrin  tole  him  what  the  rar  ripe  hed  dun, 
an'  he  swore  hit  allers  worked  jis'  that  way,  an'  wer 
'stonished  at  Wat's  not  knowin  hit ;  an'  they  talked  so 
fas',  an'  so  much,  that  the  more  Wat  listened  the  less 
he  know'd. 

"  Arter  the  sheriff  lef,  they  onrolled  the  bundil,  an' 
Wat  straitched  out  the  calliker  in  the  yard.  He  step't 
hit  off  keerfully,  ten  yards,  an  a  littil  the  rise.  He  puss'd 
up  his  mouf,  an'  blow'd  out  a  whistil  seven  foot  long, 
lookin  up  an'  down  the  middil  stripe  ove  the  drygoods, 
frum  aind  tu  aind.  Sez  he,  '  Missis  McKildrin,  that'll 
make  Ear  Ripe  a  good  full  frock,  won't  hit  ?'  '  Y-a-s,' 
sed  she,  wif  her  hans  laid  up  along  her  jaw,  like  she 
wer  studyin  the  thing  keerfully.  '  My  son,  I  thinks 
hit  will,  an'  I  wer  jis'  a-thinkin  ef  hit  wer  cut  tu  'van- 
tage, thar  mout  be  nuff  lef,  squeezed  out  tu  make  yu  a 
Sunday  shutin  shut,  makin  the  ruffils  an'  ban  outen  sum- 
thin  else.'  '  Put  hit  in  the  bag  what  the  rar  ripe  wer 
in,  an'  by  mornin  thar'll  be  nuff  fur  the  ruffils  an'  bans, 
an'  yu  mout  make  the  tail  tu  drag  the  yeath,  wifout 
squeezin  ur  pecin,'  sez  Wat,  an'  he  put  a  few  small 
wrinkils  in  the  pint  ove  his  nose,  what  seemed  tu 
bother  the  widder  tu  make  out  the  meanin  ove ;  they 
look'd  mons'ous  like  the  outward  signs  ove  an  on- 
b'lever.  Jis'  then  his  eyes  sot  fas'  ontu  sumthin  a-lyin 
on  the  groun  whar  he'd  onrolled  the  bundil ;  he  walk'd 


RARE  RIPE   GARDEN-SEED.  241 

up  tu  hit  slow,  sorter  like  a  feller  goes  up  tu  a  log, 
arter  he  thinks  he  seed  a  snake  run  onder.  He  walk'd 
clean  roun  hit  twiste,  never  takin  his  eyes  ofen  hit. 
At  las'  he  lifted  hit  on  his  instep,  an'  hilt  out  his  laig 
strait  at  that  widdered  muther-in-lor  ove  his'n.  Sez  he, 
'  What  mout  yu  call  that  ?  Eed  baby's  shoes  don't  gin- 
er'lly  hev  teeth,  dus  they?'  'Don't  yu  know  hits  a 
tuckin  comb,  "Watty  ?  The  store-keeper's  made  a  sor- 
ter blunder,  I  speck,'  sed  that  vartus  petticoatful  ove 
widderhood.  '  Maybe  he  hes ;  I'se  durn  sure  I  Aes,'  sed 
Wat,  an'  he  wrinkil'd  his  nose  agin,  mons'ous  bother- 
inly  tu  that  watchful  widder.  He  scratched  his  head  a 
spell ;  sez  he,  '  Ten  yards  an'  the  rise  fur  a  baby's  frock, 
a?i'  hit  rar  ripe  at  that,  gits  me ;  an'  that  ar  tuckin  comb 
gits  me  wus.'  'Oh,  fiddlesticks  an'  flusterashun,'  sez 
she.  '  Save  the  comb ;  baby'll  soon  want  hit. '  '  That's 
so,  mammy,  I'm  dam  ef  hit  don't,'  an'  he  slip't  his  foot 
frum  onder  hit,  an'  hit  scarcely  totch  the  yeath  afore 
he  stomp't  hit,  an'  the  teeth  flew  all  over  the  widder.  • 
He  look'd  like  he'd  been  stompin  a  blowin  adder,  an' 
went  apas'  the  'oman  intu  the  cabin,  in  a  rale  Aprile 
tucky  gobbler  strut.  When  he  tore  the  rapper  off  the 
sheriffs  present,  I  seed  a  littil  bit  ove  white  paper  fall 
out  Onbenowenst  tu  enybody,  I  sot  my  foot  ontu  hit, 
an'  when  they  went  in  I  socked  hit  deep  intu  my 
pocket,  an'  went  over  tu  the  still-'ous.  I  tuck  Jim 
Dunkin  out,  an'  arter  swarin  'im  wif  a  uplifted  han',  tu 
keep  dark,  got  him  tu  read  hit  tu  me,  ontil  hit  wer 


242  BARE  RIPE  GARDEN-SEED. 

printed  on  the  mindm  seckshun  ove  my  brain.  Hit 
run  jis'  so : 

"My  sweet  Maet  : 

I  mayn't  git  the  chance  tu  talk  eny  tu  yu,  Be 
when  Wat  gits  home,  an'  axes  enything  'bout  the  comb  an'  calliker,  yu 
tell  him  yer  mam  foun  the  bundil  in  the  road.  She'll  back  yu  up  in 
that  ar  statemint,  ontil  thar's  enuf  white  fros'  in  hell  tu  kill  snap- 
beans. 

Notey  Beney. — I  hope  Wat'll  stay  in  Atlanty  ontil  the  merlenium, 
don't  yu,  my  dear  duv? 

Yures  tiil  deth, 

Doltin'. 

An'  tu  that  ar  las'  remark  he'd  sot  a  big  D.  I  reckon 
he  ment  that  fur  dam  Wat. 

"  Now,  I  jis'  know'd  es  long  es  I  hed  that  paper,  I 
hilt  four  aces  ontu  the  sheriff,  an'  I  ment  tu  bet  on  the 
han,  an'  go  halves  wif  Wat,  fur  I  wer  sorry  fur  him,  he 
wer  so  infunely  'posed  upon.  I  went  tu  school  tu 
Sicily  Burns,  tu  lam  'oman  tricks,  an'  I  tuck  a  dirplo- 
mer,  I  did,  an'  now  I'd  jes'  like  tu  see  the  pussonal 
feeters  ove  the  she  'oman  what  cud  stock  rar  ripe  kerds 
on  me,  durn'd  fool  es  I  is.  I  hed  a  talk  wif  Wat,  an7 
soon  foun  out  that  his  mine  hed  simmer'd  down  intu  a 
strong  belief  that  the  sheriff  an'  Mary  wer  doin  thar 
weavin  in  the  same  loom. 

"Then  I  show'd  him  my  four  aces,  an'  that  chip 
made  the  pot  bile  over,  an'  he  jis'  'greed  tu  be  led  by 
me,  spontanashusly. 

"Jis'  think  on  that  fac'  a  minnit  boys ;  a  man  what 


RAKE   RIPE   GARDEN-SEED.  243 

hed  sense  enuf  tu  turn  a  hoss  shoe,  an'  then  nail  hit  on 
toe  aind  foremos',  bein  led  by  me,  looks  sorter  like  a 
plum  tree  barin  tumil  bug-balls,  but  hit  wer  jis'  so,  an' 
durn  my  pictur,  ef  I  didn't  lead  him  tu  victory,  strait 
along. 

"  "Wat  narrated  hit,  that  he  b'leved  strong  in  rar  ripe, 
frum  beans,  thru  notes  ove  han,  plum  tu  babys,  an' 
that  his  cabin  shud  never  be  wifout  hit.  The  widder 
wer  cheerful,  Mary  wer  luvin,  an'  the  sheriff  wer  told 
on  the  sly,  by  ole  Mister  McKildrin's  remainin,  an' 
mos'  pius  she  half,  that  Wat  wer  es  plum  blind  es  ef 
his  eyes  wer  two  tuckil  aigs.  So  the  wool  grow'd  over 
his  eyes,  ontil  hit  wer  fit  tu  shear,  an'  dam  ef  I  warvHt 
at  the  shearin. 

"  Things,  tharfore,  went  smoof,  an'  es  quiet  es  a 
greased  waggin,  runnin  in  san.  Hits  allers  so,  jis' 
afore  a  tarin  big  storm. 

"  By  the  time  littil  Rar  Ripe  wer  ten  weeks  ole,  Dol- 
tin  begun  tu  be  pow'ful  plenty  in  the  neighborhood. 
Even  the  brats  know'd  his  hoss's  tracks,  an'  go  whai 
he  wud,  the  road  led  ni  ontu  Wat's,  ur  the  widder's,  tu 
git  thar.  My  time  tu  play  my  four  aces  hed  'bout 
cum." 

"  And  so  has  orderly  bed  time.  I  wish  to  repose," 
remarked  the  man  of  Useful  Knowledge,  in  the  square- 
tail  coat,  and  cloth  gaiters. 

Sut  opened  his  eyes  in  wonder. 
"Yuwish  tudu  what?" 


244  RARE  RIPE   GARDEN-SEED. 

"  I  -wish  to  go  to  sleep." 

"Then  why  the  h — 1  didn't  yu  say  so?  Yu  mus' 
talk  Inglish  tu  me,  ur  not  git  yersef  onderstood.  I 
warn't  edikated  at  no  Injun  ur  nigger  school.  Say, 
bunty,  warn't  yu  standid  deep  in  sum  creek,  when  the 
taylure  man  put  the  string  to  yu,  fur  that  ar  cross  atwix 
a  rounabout  an'  a  flour  barril,  what  yu'se  got  on  in 
place  of  a  coat  ?" 

My  self-made  guest  looked  appealingly  at  me,  as  he 
nntied  his  gaiters,  evidently  deeply  insulted.  I  shook 
my  head  at  Sut,  who  was  lying  on  his  breast,  with  his 
arms  crossed  for  a  pillow,  but  with  head  elevated  like 
a  lizard's,  watching  the  traveler's  motions  with  great 
interest. 

"  Say,  George,  what  dus  repose  mean  ?  That  wurd 
wer  used  at  me  jis'  now." 

"Repose  means  rest." 

"  Oh,  the  devil  hit  dus  !  I'se  glad  tu  hear  hit,  I  tho't 
hit  wer  pussonal.  I  kin  repose  now,  mysef.  Say,  ole 
Onsightly  Peter,  repose  sum  tu,  ef  yu  kin  in  that 
flour    barril.      I   ain't   gwine  tu  hunt  fur  yure   har 

ontil  mor "  and  Sut  slept.     When  morning  broke, 

the    Encyclopedia,    or    Onsightly  Peter  as   Sut  pro- 
nounced it,  had 

•'Folded  his  tent  like  the  Arab, 
And  as  silently  stole  away." 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT-ALMOST. 


"Ole  Onsightly  Peter  tuck  Ms  squar-tail  cackus 
kiver  away  frum  this  yere  horspitable  camp,  wifout 
axin  for  his  bill,  ur  even  sayin  'mornin,'  tu  us.  Le's 
look  roun  a  littil ;  I  bet  he'se  stole  sumfin.  Fellers  ove 
bis  stripe  allers  dus.  They  never  thinks  a  night's 
lodgin  cumplete,  onless  they  hooks  a  bed-quilt,  ur  a 
candilstick,  ur  sum  sichlike.  I  hates  ole  Onsightly 
Peter,  jis'  caze  he  didn't  seem  tu  like  tu  hear  me  nar- 
rate las'  night ;  that's  human  nater  the  yeath  over,  an' 
yere's  more  univarsal  onregenerit  human  nater :  ef  ever 
yu  dus  eny thing  tu  enybody  wifout  cause,  yu  hates 
em  allers  arterwards,  an'  sorter  ft  ants  tu  hurt  em  agin. 
An'  yere's  anuther  human  nat  ,c :  ef  enything  happens 
sum  feller,  I  don't  keer  ef  he's  yure  bes'  frien,  an'  I 
don't  keer  how  sorry  yu  is  fur  him,  thar's  a  streak  ove 
satisfackshun  'bout  like  a  sowin  thread  a-runnin  all 
thru  yer  sorrer.  Yu  may  be  shamed  ove  hit,  but  durn 
me  ef  hit  ain't  thar.  Hit  will  show  like  the  white  cot- 
tin  chain  in  mean  cassinett ;   brushin  hit  onder  only 


246      CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST. 

hides  hit.  An'  yere's  a  littil  more  ;  no  odds  how  good 
yu  is  tu  yung  things,  nr  how  kine  yn  is  in  treatin  em, 
when  yu  sees  a  littil  long  laiged  lamb  a-shakin  hits 
tail,  an'  a-dancin  staggerinly  onder  hits  mam  a-hnntin 
fur  the  tit,  ontu  hits  knees,  yer  ringers  will  itch  tu 
seize  that  ar  tail,  an'  fling  the  littil  ankshus  son  ove  a 
mutton  over  the  fence  amung  the  blackberry  briars, 
not  tu  hurt  hit,  but  jis'  tu  disapint  hit.  Ur  say,  a  littil 
calf,  a-buttin  fas'  under  the  cow's  fore-laigs,  an'  then  the 
hine,  wif  the  pint  ove  hits  tung  stuck  out,  makin  suckin 
mosuuns,  not  yet  old  enuf  tu  know  the  bag  aind  ove 
hits  mam  frum  the  hookin  aind,  don't  yu  want  tu 
kick  hit  on  the  snout,  hard  enough  tu  send  hit  back- 
wards, say  fifteen  foot,  jis'  tu  show  hit  that  buttin  won't 
allers  fetch  milk  ?  Ur  a  baby  even,  rubbin  hits  heels 
apas'  each  uther,  a-rootin  an'  a-snifflin  arter  the  breas', 
an'  the  mam  duin  her  bes'  tu  git  hit  out,  over  the  hem 
ove  her  clothes,  don't  yu  feel  hungry  tu  gin  hit  jis' 
one  'cussion  cap  slap,  rite  ontu  the  place  what  sum 
day'U  fit  a  saddil,  ur  a  sowin  cheer,  tu  show  hit  what's 
atwixt  hit  an'  the  grave ;  that  hit  stans  a  pow'ful  chance 
not  tu  be  fed  every  time  hits  hungry,  ur  in  a  hurry  ? 
An'  agin:  ain't  thar  sum  grown  up  babys  what  yu 
meets,  that  the  moment  yer  eyes  takes  em  in,  yer  toes 
itch  tu  tetch  thar  starns,  jis'  'bout  es  saftly  es  a  muel 
kicks  in  playin ;  a  histin  kine  ove  a  tetch,  fur  the  way 
they  wares  thar  har,  hat,  ur  watch-chain,  the  shape  ove 
thar  nose,  the  cut  ove  thar  eye,  ur  sumthin  ove  a  like 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST.         247 

littil  natur.  Jis'  tu  show  the  idear,  a  strange  fellow 
onst  cum  intu  a  doggery  whar  I  wer  buzzy  a-raisin 
steam,  an'  had  got  hit  a  few  poun  abuv  a  bladder  bustin 
pint. 

"He  tuck  off  his  gloves,  slow  an'  keerful,  a-lookin  at 
me  like  I  mout  smell  bad.  Then  he  flattened  em  ontu 
the  counter,  an'  laid  em  in  the  crown  ove  his  hat,  like 
he  wer  packin  shuts  in  a  trunk.     Then  sez  he — 

"  lBaw-keepaw,  ole  Champaigne  Brandy,  vintage 
ove  thuty-eight,  ef  yu  please,  aw.' 

"He  smelt  hit  slow,  a-lookin  at  hissef  in  the  big 
lookin-glass  ahine  the  counter,  shook  his  head,  an' 
turned  up  his  mustachus,  sorter  like  a  goat  hists  hits  tail. 

"  Mustachus  am  pow'ful  holesum  things  I  speck,  tu 
them  what  hes  the  stumick  tu  wear  em.  Bes'  butter- 
milk strainers  on  yeath.  All  the  scrimpshuns  ove 
butter  lodges  in  the  har,  an'  rubbed  in  makes  it  grow, 
like  chicken  dung  dus  inyuns.  Strains  whisky  power- 
ful good,  what  hes  dead  flies  in  hit,  an'  then  yu  kin 
comb  em  off  ur  let  em  stay,  'cordin  tu  yer  taste.  They 
changes  the  taste  ove  a  kiss  clear  over ;  makes  hit  tas' 
an'  smell  like  a  mildew'd  saddil-blankit,  arter  hit  hed 
been  rid  on  a  sore-back  hoss  three  hundred  miles  in 
August,  an'  increases  yer  appertite  fur  sich  things 
'cordinly.  I  seed  a  blue-bird  devil  a  feller  onst,  all 
one  spring,  a-tryin  tu  git  intu  his  niouf  tu  bild  a  nestes, 
an'  the  durn'd  fool  wer  proud  ove  the  bird's  preferens, 
but  wudn't  let  hit  git  in. 


248  CONTEMPT  OP  COUET — ALMOST. 

• '  Bite  then,  I  thought,  well,  durn  yure  artifishul 
no-count  soul,  an'  my  toes  begun  tu  tingle.  He  tuck 
four  trials,  a-pourin  back  an'  forrid,  afore  he  got  his 
dram  the  right  depth,  a-lookin  thru  the  tumbler  like  he 
spected  tu  see  a  minner,  ur  a  warter-mockasin  in  hit. 
Then  he  drunk  hit,  like  hit  wer  caster  ile,  the  infunel 
fool.  Lordy  crimminy !  how  bad  my  toes  wer  itchin 
now.  He  lit  a  seegar,  cocked  hit  up  to'ards  one  eye, 
an'  loooked  at  me  agin  thru  the  smoke,  while  he  shook 
his  hat  over  ontu  one  ove  his  years.  Sez  I,  '  Mornin 
mister.' 

"  He  never  sed  a  word,  but  turned  an'  started  fur  the 
door.  When  he  got  six  foot  nine  inches  distunt,  (that's 
my  bes'  kickin  range,)  the  durned  agravatin  toe  itch 
overcum  me,  an'  I  let  one  ove  these  yere  hoss-hide 
boots  go  arter  Hm  ;  hit  imejuntly  cotch  up  wif  the  fork 
ove  his  coatail,  an'  went  outen  my  sight,  mos'  up  tu 
the  straps.  He  went  flyin  outen  the  doggery  door, 
over  the  hoss-rack.  While  he  wer  in  the  air,  he  turned 
plum  roun  an'  lit  facin  me  wif  a  cock't  Derringer, 
a-starin  me  squar  in  the  face.  I  tho't  I  seed  the  bullit 
in  hit  lookin  es  big  es  a  hen's  aig.  Es  I  dodged,  hit 
plowed  a  track  acrost  the  door-jam,  jis'  es  high  es  my 
eye-brows.  I  wer  one  hundred  an'  nineteen  yards 
deep  in  the  wheat-field  when  I  hearn  hits  mate  bark,  an' 
he  wer  a  pow'rful  quick  moshun'd  man  wif  shootin  irons. 

"I  wer  sorter  fooled  in  the  nater  ove  that  feller, 
that's  a  fac'.     The  idear  ove  Derringers,  an'  the  melt 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST.        249 

tu  use  em,  bein  mix't  up  wif  es  much  durned  fmekey 
fool  es  he  show'd,  never  struck  me  at  all,  but  I  made 
my  pint  on  'im,  I  cured  my  toe  itch. 

"Well,  I  allers  tuck  the  cumplaint  every  time  I  seed 
ole  Jedge  Smarty,  but  I  dusn't  try  tu  cure  hit  on  him, 
an'  so  hit  jis'  hed  tu  run  hits  course,  onless  I  met  sum- 
thin  I  cud  kick. 

"  Wirt  Staples  got  him  onst,  bad ;  'stonished  the  ole 
bag  ove  lor  amos'  outen  his  dignity,  dam  ef  he  didn't, 
an'  es  Wirt  tuck  a  skeer  in  what's  tu  cum  ove  my  nara- 
shun  about  the  consekinses  ove  foolin  wif  uther  men's 
wives,  I'll  tell  yu  how  he  'stonished  ole  Smarty,  an' 
then  yu'll  better  onderstand  me  when  I  cums  tu  tell  yu 
how  he  help't  tu  'stonish  ole  Doltin. 

"  Wirt  hed  changed  his  grocery  range,  an'  the  sperrits 
at  the  new  lick-log  hed  more  scrimmage  seed  an'  raise- 
devil  intu  hit  than  the  old  biled  drink  he  wer  used  tu, 
an'  three  ho'ns  his  ted  his  tail,  an'  sot  his  bristils  'bout  es 
stiff  es  eight  ove  the  uther  doggery  juice  wud.  So 
when  cort  sot  at  nine  o'clock,  Wirt  wer  'bout  es  fur 
ahead  as  cleaving,  ur  half  pas'  that. 

"  The  hollerin  stage  ove  the  disease  now  struck  him, 

so  he  roar'd  one  good  year-quiverin  roar,  an'  riz  three 

foot  inside  the  doggery  door,  an'  lit  nine  more  out  in 

the  mud,  sploshin  hit  all  over  the  winders,  tuther  side 

the  street     He  hed  a  dned  venerson  ham  in  one  han,  an' 

a  ten- year  old  he  nigger  by  hits  gallus-crossin  in  tuther. 

He  waved  fus'  the  nigger  an'  then  the  venerson  over  his 
11* 


250  CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST. 

head,  steppin  short  an'  high,  like  ontu  a  bline  hoss,  an 
lookin  squar  atwixt  his  shoe-heels,  wif  his  shoulders 
hump'd  hi  up.     Sez  he, 

"  '  Hu — wee,'  clear  an'  loud  es  a  tin  ho'n,  '  run  onder 
the  hen,  yere's  the  blue- tail  hawk,  an'  he's  a-flyin  low. 
The  Devil's  grist  mill-dam's  broke ;  take  tu  yer  canoes. 
Then  he  roared  a  time  ur  two,  an'  look'd  up  an'  down 
the  street,  like  a  bull  looks  fur  tuther  one,  when  he 
thinks  he  hearn  a  beller.  He  riz  ontu  his  tip-toes,  an' 
finished  a  good  loud  'Hu-wee.'  Es  he  drap't  ontu  his 
heels  agin,  he  yelled  so  hard  his  head  shook  an'  his 
long  black  har  quivered  agin ;  he  then  shook  hit  outen 
his  eyes,  wipin  the  big  draps  ove  sweat  ofen  his  snout 
wif  his  shut-sleeve,  still  hangin  tu  the  venerson  an'  the 
nigger.     Sez  he, 

"  '  Look  out  fur  the  ingine  when  yu  hears  hit  whistil; 
hits  a-whistilin  rite  now.  iVmeteen  hundred  an'  eighty 
pouns  tu  the  squar  scrimpshun  by  golly,  an'  eighty '-nine 
miles  in  the  shake  ove  a  lamb's  tail.  Purfeckly  clear 
me  jis'  ten  acres  tu  du  my  gesterin  on,  yu  durned  Jews, 
tape-sellers,  gentiles,  an'  jackasses,  I'se  jis'  a  mossel 
ove  the  bes'  man  what  ever  laid  a  shadder  ontu  this 
dirt  Hit  wilts  grass,  my  breff  pizins  skeeters,  my  yell 
breaks  winders,  an'  my  tromp  gits  yeathquakes.  I  kin 
bust  the  bottom  outen  a  still  by  blowin  in  at  the  wum, 
I  kin  addil  a  room  full  ove  goose  aigs  by  peepin  in  at 
the  key-hole,  an'  I  ten  spit  a  blister  ontu  a  washpot,  ontil 
the  flies  blow  hit.     Listen  tu  me,  oh  yu  dam  puney,  pan- 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST.  251 

ady  eatin  siterzens,  an'  soujoumers  in  this  half-stock't 
town,  I'se  in  yearnis'  now.'  Then  he  reared  a  few 
times  agin,  an'  cnt  the  pidgeon-wing  three  foot  high, 
finished  off  wif  'bout  haf  ove  a  ho'n-pipe,  keepin  time 
abuv  his  head  wif  the  venerson  an'  the  littil  son  ove 
midnite.  He  hilt  em  straight  out  at  arm's  laingth, 
leaned  way  back,  an'  lookin  straight  up  at  the  sky, 
sung  'bout  es  loud  es  a  cow  bellers,  one  vearse  ove  the 
sixteen  hundred  an'  ninety-ninth  hyme — 

The  martins  buds  in  boxis, 

The  foxis  dens  in  holes, 
The  sarpints  crawls  in  rocksis, 
The  yeath's  the  home  ove  moles. 

Cock  a-doodil-do,  hits  movin, 
An'  dram  time's  cum  agin. 

'  Yire's  what  kin  jis'  sircumstansully  flax  out  that  ar 
court-hous'  full  tu  the  chimbly  tops,  ove  bull-dorgs, 
Bengal  tigers,  an'  pizen  bitin  things,  wif  that  ar  pusley- 
gutted,  leather  whisky  jug  ove  a  jedge,  tu  laig  fur  em. 
Cum  out  yere,  yu  ole  false  apostil  ove  lor,  yu  cussed, 
termatis-nosed  desipil  ove  supeners,  an'  let  me  gin  yu  a 
charge.  I'll  bet  high  hit  busts  yu  plum  open,  frum 
fork  tu  forrid,  yu  hary,  sulky,  choliky  durn'd  son  ove  a 
slush-tub.  Cum  out  yere,  oh  yu  coward's  skeer,  yu 
widder's  night-mar,  yu  poor  man's  heart  ache,  yu  con- 
stabil's  god,  yu  lawyer's  king,  yu  treasury's  tape-wum, 
yer  wife's  dam  barril  ove  soap-grease,  saften'd  wif  un- 
bought  whisky.' 


252        CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST. 

"  Thinks  I,  that's  hit;  now  Wirt  yu'se  draw'd  an  ace 
kerd  at  las',  far  the  winders  wer  histed  an'  the  cort 
hearn  every  word. 

"Wirt  wer  bilin  hot;  nobody  tu  gainsay  him,  hed 
made  him  piedied  all  over;  he  wer  plum  pizen.  So 
arter  finishin  his  las'  narashun,  aim'd  at  Jedge  Smarty, 
he  tuck  a  vigrus  look  at  the  yung  nigger,  what  he  still 
hilt  squirmin  an'  twistin  his  face,  what  warn't  eyes, 
glazed  all  over  wif  tears,  an'  starch  outen  his  nose,  an' 
sez  he,  'Go.'  He  flung  hit  up'ards,  an'  es  hit  cum 
down,  hit  met  one  ove  Wirt's  boots.  Away  hit  flew, 
spread  like  ontu  a  flyin  squirrel,  smash  thru  a  watch- 
tinker's  winder,  totin  in  broken  sash,  an'  glass,  an' 
bull's-eye  watches,  an'  sasser  watches,  an'  spoons,  an' 
doll  heads,  an'  clay  pipes,  an'  fishin  reels,  an'  sum 
noise.  A  ole  ball-headed  cuss  wer  a-sittin  a-peepin  in- 
tu  a  ole  watch,  arter  spiders,  wif  a  thing  like  a  big 
black  wart  kiverin  one  eye,  when  the  smashery  cum, 
an'  the  fas'  thing  he  knowed,  he  wer  flat  ove  his  back, 
wif  a  small,  pow'fully  skeer'd,  ash-culler'd  nigger, 
a-straddil  his  naik,  littil  brass  wheels  spinnin  on  the 
floor,  an'  watches  singin  like  rattil-snakes  all  roun.  I 
wer  a-peepin  outen  the  ole  doggery  door,  an'  thinks  I, 
thar,  by  jingo,  Wirt,  yu'se  draw'd  anuther  ace,  an'  ef  yu 
hilt  enything  ove  a  han  afore,  yu  hes  got  a  sure  thing 
now ;  so  better  bet  fas',  ole  feller,  fur  I  rather  think  the 
jedge'll  'call  yu'  purty  soon.  Wirt  seed  me,  an'  ove 
course  tho't  ove  whisky  that  moment ;  so  he  cum  over 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST.         253 

tu  lay  on  a  littil  more  kindlin  wood.  I'll  swar,  tu  look 
at  him,  yu  cudn't  think  fur  the  life  ove  yu,  that  he  hed 
over-bragged  a  single  word.  His  britches  wer  buttoned 
tite  roun  his  loins,  an'  stuifed  'bout  half  intu  his  boots, 
his  shut  bagg'd  out  abuv,  an'  wer  es  white  es  milk, 
his  sleeves  wer  rolled  up  tu  his  arm-pits,  an'  his  collar 
wer  es  wide  open  es  a  gate,  the  mussils  on  his  arms 
moved  about  like  rabbits  onder  the  skin,  an'  ontu  his 
hips  an'  thighs  they  play'd  like  the  swell  on  the  river, 
his  skin  wer  clear  red  an'  white,  an'  his  eyes  a  deep, 
sparklin,  wickid  blue,  while  a  smile  fluttered  like  a 
hummin  bird  roun  his  mouf  all  the  while.  When  the 
State-fair  offers  a  premin  fur  men  like  they  now  dus  fur 
jackasses,  I  means  tu  enter  Wirt  Staples,  an'  I'll  git 
hit,  ef  thar's  five  thousand  entrys.  I  seed  ole  Doltin 
cumin  waddlin  outen  the  court-hous',  wif  a  paper  in  his 
han,  an'  a  big  stick  onder  his  arm,  lookin  to'ards  the 
doggery  wif  his  mouf  puss'd  up,  an'  his  brows  draw'd 
down.  Sez  I,  '  Wirt,  look  thar,  thar's  a  '  herearter/ 
a-huntinyu;  duyuseehit?  whar'syer  hoss?'  He  tuck 
one  wickid,  blazin  look,  an'  slip't  intu  the  stret  wif  his 
arms  folded  acrost  his  venerson  laig. 

"  Now  Wirt  wer  Wat  Mastin's  cuzzin,  an'  knouj'd  all 
about  the  rar  ripe  bisness,  an'  tuck  sides  wif  Wat  strong. 
I'd  show'd  him  the  sheriff's  note  tu  Mary,  an'  he  hed 
hit  by  heart.  The  crowd  wer  now  follerin  Doltin  tu  see 
the  fun.     When  he  got  in  about  ten  steps,  sez  Wirt : 

" '  Stop  rite  thar ;  ef-  yu  don't,  thar's  no  caMker  ut 


254         CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST. 

combs  in  Herrings  store,  ef  I  don't  make  yu  fear'd  ova 
lightnin.  I'll  stay  wif  yu  till  thar's  enuf  frosy  in  hell  In 
kill  snap-beans.'' 

"When  Wirt  menshun'd  snap-beans,  I  seed  the 
sheriff  sorter  start,  an  git  pale  ahine  the  years. 

"  'Git  intu  that  ar  hog-pen,  quick,  (a-pintin  at  the 
court-hous'  wif  the  venerson  laig,)  ur  I'll  split  yer  head 
plum  tu  the  swaller  wif  this  yere  buck's  laig,  yu  durn'd 
ole  skaley-heel'd,  bob-tail  old  muley  bull ;  I'll  spile  yer 
appertite  fur  the  grass  in  uther  men's  pasturs.' 

"  '  Don't  talk  so  loud,  Mister  Staples ;  hit  discombo- 
berates  the  court.  I  hes  no  papers  agin  yu.  Jis'  keep 
quiet,'  sez  Doltin,  aidgin  up  slow,  an'  two  ur  three  dep- 
ertys  sorter  nankin. 

"Wirt  seed  the  signs.  He  jis'  roared  'the  lion's 
loose !  Shet  yer  doors.'  I  seed  his  har  a-flyin  es  he 
sprung,  an'  I  hearn  a  soun  like  smashin  a  dry  gourd, 
thar  wer  a  rushin  tugether  ove  depertys  an'  humans, 
an'  hit  look'd  like  bees  a-swarmin.  Yere  cum  Wirt, 
mowin  his  way  outen  the  crowd,  wif  his  venerson,  an' 
sprung  ontu  his  hoss.  Thar  lay  Doltin,  flat  ove  his 
back,  his  belly  pintin  up  like  a  big  tater-hill,  an'  eight 
ur  nine  more  in  es  many  shapes,  lyin  all  about,  every 
durned  wun  a-holdin  his  head,  'sceptin  Doltin,  an'  he 
wer  plum  limber.  Wirt  hed  a  pow'ful  fine  hoss,  an' 
he  rid  'im  roun  that  crowd  like  a  Cumanche  Injun,  ur 
a  suckis,  es  fas'  es  quarter  racin,  jis'  bustin  his  froat 
ft-hoUerin,     Then  he  went  fur  the  court-hous',  rid  in  at 


CONTEMPT  OF  COURT — ALMOST.         255 

one  door,  an'  out  at  tuther.  Es  lie  went,  lie  flung  that 
mortul  buck's  hine  laig  at  the  j  edge's  head,  sayin  : 

"  '  Thar's  a  dried  supeaner  fur  yu,  yu  dam  ole  cow's 
paunch.' 

"  Es  hit  cum  hit  hit  the  tabil  afore  him,  an'  sent  a 
head  ove  hit,  the  broken  glass  ove  a  big  inkstand,  an'  a 
half  pint  ove  ink,  intu  the  face  ove  the  court,  then 
glancin  up,  hit  tuck  a  par  ove  specks  what  hed  been 
rared  back  ontu  his  head,  outen  the  winder  wif  hit 
Ole  Smarty  hes  a  mity  nice  idear  ove  when  tu  duck  his 
head,  even  ef  a  rain-storm  ove  ink  am  cumin  upwards 
intu  his  face.  Warn't  that  mons'ous  nigh  bein  a  case 
ove  contempt  ove  court?" 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF. 


"  "When  Doltin  got  his  lied  cooper'd  up  arter  that  cav- 
in  in  hit  got  frum  the  venerson  laig,  so  he  cud  think  up 
sarcumstances  a  littil,  he  sent  fur  me.  You  see  Jim 
Dunkin,  the  ornary  devil,  foreswore  hissef,  an's  now  a 
parjurd  man ;  he  tole  Doltin  that  I  hilt  his  note  tu 
Mary,  an'  he  wer  arter  hit  hot.  Well,  I  tuck  aboard 
enuf  wood  tu  run  me  a  few  miles,  an'  over  I  went ;  but 
fus'  gin  the  note  tu  Wirt  Staples,  tu  keep,  fur  fear  the 
ole  bull-dorg  mout  sheer  hit  outen  me. 

"  Thar  lay  Doltin  on  a  low  one-hoss  bedstid,  wif  'bout 
three  wet  towils  tied  roun'  his  head,  an'  cabbige  leaves 
a-peepin  out  all  roun'  frum  onder  em.  'Bout  half  ove 
a  doctor's  shop  wer  sittin  ontu  a  tabil. 

"  Thar  sot  the  sheriff's  wife,  in  a  rocking  cheer.  She 
wer  boney  an'  pale.  A  drunk  Injun  cud  a-red  a  Dutch 
almanac  thru  her  nose,  and  ther  wer  a  new  moon  ove 
indigo  onder  her  eyes,  away  back  intu  them,  fifty  foot 
or  so.  I  seed  her  tear  wells ;  thar  windlass  wer  broke, 
the  buckits  in  staves,  an'  the  waters  all  gone ;  an'  away 


TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF.  257 

still  furder  back,  two  lights  shin'd,  saft,  like  tlie  stars 
above  'jis  'afore  thar  settin.     Her  wais  wer  flat,  an'  the 
finger  cords  on  her  han's  wer  mos'  as  high,  an'  look'd 
es  tight,  and  show'd  es  clar  thru  the  skin,  es  the  strings 
ove  a  fiddil.     The  han'  hitsef  wer  white,  not  like  snow, 
but  like  paint,  and  the  forkid  blue  veins  made  hit  look 
like  a  new  map  ove  the  Ian'  ove  death.     She   wer  a 
coughin  wif  her  han'  on  her  hart,  like  she  hed  no  more 
spittil  nur  she  hed  tears,    an'  not  much  louder  nor  a 
crickit  chirpin  in  a  flute ;  jit  in  spite  ove  all  this,  a 
sweet  smile  kiver'd  her  feeters,  like  a  patch  ove  winter 
sunshine  on  the  slope  ove  a  mountin,  an'  hit  staid  thar 
es  steddy  an'  bright  es  the  culler  dus  tu  the   rose.     I 
'speck  that  smile  will  go  back  up  wif  her  when  she 
starts  home,  whar  hit  mus'  a-cum  frum.     She  must  onst 
been  mons'us  temtin  tu  men  tu  look  at,  an'  now  she's  loved 
by  the  angils,  fur  the  seal  ove  thar  king  is  stamp'd  in 
gold  on  her  forrid.     Her  shoulder  blades,  as  they  show'd 
thru  her  dress,  made  me  think  they  wer  wings  a  sproutin 
fur  her  flight  tu  that  cumfort  and  peace  ahe  desarves  so 
well.     She's  a  dealin  wif  death  now.     Her  shroud's  in 
the  house,  an'  sum  ove  the  nex'  grass  will  grow  on  her 
grave,  an'  she's  willin  fur  the  spring  tu  cum.     She  is 
ready,  an'  I  raly  wish  she  hed  started.     As  I  look  fus' 
at  him,  an'  then  at  her,  I'd  swore  tu  a  herearter.     Yes, 
two  herearters,  by  golly :  one  way  up    behint  that  ar 
black  cloud  wif  the  white  bindin  fur  sich  as  her ;  the 
tuther  herearter  needs  no  wings  nor  laigs  ither  tu  reach  ; 


258  TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF. 

when  you  soaks  yersef  in  sin  till  yer  gits  heavy  enuf, 
yu  jes'  draps  in.  An'  way  down  in  the  souf  cornel1 
ove  hit  thar's  a  hole,  what  the  devil  prides  hissef  on,  for 
hit  is  jis'  sixteen  thousin  times  hotter  nur  a  weldin  heat, 
an'  plum  intu  the  center  ove  hit,  wifout  tetchin  wall  ur 
rafter,  sum  fine  arternoon  Doltin'll  drap  head  fus'  an' 
dive  deeper  nur  a  poun'  plum  bob  kin  fall  in  nine 
months.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  in  a  safe  place  to 
see  him  when  he  plouts  in,  wif  a  '  whisk '  intu  that  ar 
orful  strong  smellin,  melted  mixtry  ove  seleck  damna- 
shun.  He'll  sizzil  like  a  wet  cat  flung  intu  a  kittil  ove 
bilin  fat,  an'  he'll  slosh  hit  up  agin  the  walls  so  high 
that  hit  will  be  a  week  tricklin  down  agin,  an'  sen'  the 
blazin  draps  so  high,  that  they'll  light  on  yeath  an'  be 
mistakened  fur  shootin  stars. 

"  Well,  he  ris  up  ontu  his  elber,  and  sez  he,  mighty 
saft  like,  '  Mister  Lovingood,  you  holes  a  note  ove 
mine  fur  ten  duller s.  I  wants  tu  pay  hit,'  a  holding  out 
a  bank  ove  Tennessee  X,  an'  a  winkin  prudins'  an' 
silence  at  me  frum  onder  the  aidge  ove  a  cabbige  leaf 
monsus  strong. 

"  Sez  I,  '  Mr.  Doltin,  I'se  powerful  sorry,  but  the  fac' 
is,  I'se  dun  traded  yer  note.' 

" '  Oh,  dear  me !  I  hopes  not ,  nu  did  did  you  trade 
hit  tu?' 

"  I  look'd  strait  intu  the  center  spot  ove  the  eye  wif  the 
cabbige  leaf  curtin,  es  innersent  es  a  lam,  an'  sed,  slow 
an'  sorry  like,  'Wirt  Staples,  Wat  Mastin's  euzzm,' 


TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF.  259 

"  He  jerk'd  his  elber  frum  onder  him  like  springin  the 
triggers  ove  a  bar-trap,  an  fell  back,  pulled  down  the 
cabbige  leaf  low,  and  sez  he,  low  atwixt  his  teef,  tu 
keep  his  wife  frum  hearin  hit,  '  You've  play'd  hell.' 

"  '  Folks  generlly  sez  that's  my  trade,'  sez  I. 

'"What  did  yu  say  yer  trade  wer  sir?'  sed  she,  es 
saft  an'  sweet  es  a  well-played  flute. 

"  '  Tradin  notes  ove  hand  mum,'  sez  I. 

"  '  Oh  !  I  hopes  you  don't  take  usury,  sir.' 

" '  No  mam,'  sez  I,  '  by  no  means  ;  I  takes  venerson 
fur  em.' 

" '  Go  tu  yure  room,'  growled  the  durned  ole  sore- 
headed  bar,  I  wants  tu  talk  tu  this  pusson.' 

"  Dam  'im,  he  call'd  me  a  pusson. 

"  Arter  she  lef,  sez  he,  :  Yu  git  that  paper  back,  an' 
fetch  hit  tu  me,  an'  ef  yu  don't,  I'll  put  yu  in  jail, 
'bout  that  nigger  meetin  business,  an'  thar  yu'll  stay. 
Dus  yer  onderstan'  me?  I'll  gin  yer  venerson,'  a-grit- 
tin  his  teeth,  an'  shakin  his  finger  at  me  like  a  snake's 
tongue,  '  don't  yu  fool  wif  me,  yu  infernel  grasshop- 
per ove  hell.' 

"Sez  I,  '  I'll  try,'  a-backing  fur  the  door. 

"  Sez  he  '  Stop,'  an'  I  stopt,  but  wif  the  door  leaf  hilt 
sorter  atwixt  us,  an'  all  ove  my  laigs  outside. 

"  '  Yu  stole  that  paper  frum  Missis  Mastin.     Now  yu 
git  hit  imejuntly,  if  not  sooner,  ur  yu'll  lay  in  jail  till — ' 
"  '  Thar's  enuf  white  fros'  in  hell  tu  bite  snap-beans,' 
sez  I,  a-mockin  his  bull  voice. 


260  TEAPPIHG  A  SHERIFF. 

"  He  jis'  rar'd  back  agin,  an'  let  his  hans'  fall  on  the 
floor  each  side  the  cot,  es  I  shot  the  door  ahino  me.  I 
hearn  a  hoss  snort  sumwhar.  He  mus'  a  beta  sorter 
flnstrated  at  me,  fur  the  cabbidge  leaves  wei  wilted, 
wif  sweat. 

"  I  tole  Wirt  Staples  what  hed  been  sed  an'  dun  over 
tu  the  sheriff's  hous'.  So  him  an'  me  an  his  wife  an' 
Wat  Mastin,  a  few  days  arter,  hilt  a  rale  no-nothin  con- 
venshun,  tu  oursefs,  at  Wirt's  hous'.  We  bilt  a  trap, 
an'  baited  hit.  Now,  what  du  yu  reckon  we  used  fur 
bait  ?  Nuffin  but  Mary  Mastin  hersef ;  an'  by  golly  we 
cotch  Doltin  the  fus'  pass.  Wirt's  wife  did  the  planin, 
an'  ef  she  aint  smart  fur  an'  'oman,  I  aint  a  nat'ral  born 
durned  fool.  She  aint  one  ove  yure  she-cat  wimmin, 
allers  spittin  an'  groanin,  an'  swellin  thar  tails  'bout  thar 
vartu.  She  never  talks  a  word  about  hit,  no  more  nor 
if  she  didn't  hev  eny ;  an'  she  hes  es  true  a  heart  es 
ever  beat  agin  a  shiff  hem,  ur  a  husban's  shut.  But 
she  am  full  ove  fun,  an'  I  mout  add  as  purty  es  a 
hen  canary,  an'  I  swar  I  don't  b'l'eve  the  'oman  knows 
hit.  She  cum  intu  our  boat  jis'  caze  Wirt  wer  in  hit, 
and  she  seed  lots  of  fun  a-plantin,  an'  she  wanted 
tu  be  at  the  reapin  of  the  crap. 

"  Well,  the  fust  thing  did  wer  tu  make  her  she-nigger 
overlay  the  road  fur  Doltin,  an'  tell  him  that  Mary  Mas- 
tin  hed  sarch'd  my  pockits  when  I  wer  asleep,  an'  foun' 
a  note  ove  his'n,  an'  that  she  wanted  him  tu  meet  up 
wif  her  nex  arternoon,  jis'  arter  dark,   back   ove  the 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF.  261 

blackberry  patch,  an'  he'd  git  Ms  note.  The  cussed  ole 
billy-goat  jis'  sot  in  tu  lickin  his  lips  and  roachin  his 
back,  like  he  wer  a-tas'in  the  farwell  ove  ole  brandy. 
He  ris  in  his  stirrups  an'  swore  he'd  be  thar,  ef  hit 
rain'd  red  hot  railroad  spikes,  an'  bilin  tar. 

"  Wirt's  wife  got  yearly  supper,  a  rale  suckit-rider's 
supper,  whar  the  'oman  ove  the  hous'  wer  a  rich  b'lever. 
Thar  wer  chickens  cut  up,  an'  fried  in  butter,  brown, 
white,  flakey,  light,  hot  biskit,  made  wif  cream,  scram- 
bil'd  aigs,  yaller  butter,  fried  ham,  in  slices  es  big  es 
yure  han,  pickil'd  beets,  an'  cowcumbers,  roas'in  ears, 
shaved  down  an'  fried,  sweet  taters,  baked,  a  stack  ove 
buckwheat  cakes,  as  full  ove  holes  es  a  sifter,  an'  a 
bowl  ove  strained  honey,  tu  fill  the  holes.  I  likes  tu 
sock  a  fork  intu  the  aidge  of  one  of  them  spongy  things 
'bout  es  big  es  a  hat  crown,  put  a  spoonful  ove  honey 
onder  hit,  an'  a  spoonful  ove  honey  atop  ove  hit,  an' 
roll  hit  up  ontu  the  fork  like  a  big  segar,  an'  start  hit 
down  my  froat  aind  fas',  an'  then  jis'  sen'  nine  more 
after  hit,  tu  hole  hit  down.  Nex  tu  speerits,  they  goes 
down  the  bes'.  I  kin  tas'e  em  es  low  down  es  the  bot- 
tim  ove  my  trowsis  pokits.  Fur  drinks,  she  hed  coffee, 
hot,  clar  an'  brown,  an'  sweet  milk  es  cold  es  a  rich 
man's  heart.  Ontu  the  dresser  sot  a  sorter  lookin  pot- 
bellied bottil,  half  full  ove  peach  brandy,  watchin  a 
tumbler,  a  spoon,  an'  a  sugar  bowl.  Oh !  massy, 
massy,  George  !  fur  the  sake  ove  yure  soul's  'tarnil  well- 
far,  don't  yu  es  long  es  yu  live  ever  be  temtid  by  money, 


262  TBAPPING  A  SHEKIFF. 

ur  buty,  ur  smartness,  ur  sweet  huggin,  ur  shockin 
mersheen  kisses,  tu  marry  ur  cum  ni  marryin  eny  gal 
a-top  tliis  livin  green  yeath.  onless  yu  hes  seed  her 
yursef  cook  jis'  sich  feedin  as  that  wer.  Durnashun,  1 
kin  tas'e  hit  now,  jis'  es  plain  es  I  tas'e  that  ar  fester- 
gut,  in  that  ar  jug,  an'  I  swar  T  tasis  hit  plain.  I  gets 
dorg  hongry  every  time  I  sees  Wirt's  wife,  ur  even 
her  side-saddil,  ur  her  frocks  a-hangin  on  the  close- 
line. 

"  Es  we  sot  down,  the  las'  glimmers  ove  the  sun  crep 
thru  the  histed  winder,  an'  flutter' d  on  the  white  tabil- 
cloth  an'  play'd  a  silver  shine  on  her  smoof  black  har, 
es  she  sot  at  the  head  ove  the  tabil,  a-pourin  out  the 
coffee,  wif  her  sleeves  push'd  tight  back  on  her  white 
roun'  arm,  her  full  throbbin  neck  wer  bar  to  the  swell 
ove  her  shoulders,  an'  the  steam  ove  the  coffee  made 
a  movin  vail  afore  her  face,  es  she  slowly  brush'd  hit 
away  wif  hur  lef  han',  a-smilin  an'  a-flashin  hur  talkin 
eyes  lovinly  at  her  hansum  husbun.  I  thot  ef  I  wer 
a  picter-maker,  I  cud  jis'  take  that  ar  supper  an'  that 
ar  'oman  down  on  clean  white  paper,  an'  make  more 
men  hongry,  an'  hot  tu  marry,  a-lookin  at  hit  in  one 
week,  nor  ever  ole  Whitfield  convarted  in  his  hole  life ; 
back-sliders,  hippercrits,  an'  all,  I  don't  keer  a  dura. 

"  Well,  arter  the  supper  things  wer  put  away,  an'  the 
cows  milkt,  I  hilt  the  calves  off  by  the  tail,  tu  make 
mysef  useful ;  Wirt  an'  me  by  golly,  an'  Wirt's  wife, 
an'  Wat  Mastin  went  over  tu  the  blackberry  patch,  tu  in- 


TRAPPING   A   SHERIFF.  263 

ishiate  ole  Doltin  intu  the  seekrit  ove  home-made  dur- 
nashun.  The  moon  wer  'bout  four  days  old ;  yu  cud 
scarcely  tell  a  man  frum  a  stamp,  sixty  yards  off  han', 
arter  night  farly  sot  in ;  jis'  the  kine  ove  a  night  fur 
sly  meetins  ur  stealin,  fur  the  yeath. 

"We'd  scasely  got  things  fix'd  an  oursefs  hid  seperit 

when  we  hearn  his  ole  hosses  huffs  soundin  on  the  hard 

road.      That  soun'  stopt,    an'   torreckly    we    hearn    a 

low,    partridge  whistil,    '  Whee-cheeJ   '  Whee-chee,1    '  Bob 

White]  tuther  side  ove  the  patch. 

"'Oh!  the  dum'd  ole  fool,'  said  Wirt  tu  his  wife. 
1  partridges  don't  whistil  arter  night. ' 

"  Sez  she,  '  The  whippoorwill  wud  be  better,'  an'  she 
whistil'd  '  whip-poor-will '  in  her  froat  sumhow,  so  like 
that  I  thot  I  seed  the  spot  onder  one's  wings. 

"  Ole  Doltin  tuck  hit  up  an'  answered,  cummin  nigher 
'  whippoorwilV  Purty  soon  we  seed  him,  loomin  big 
up  agin  the  sky.  He'd  whistil  an'  listen,  an'  cum  a 
littil,  steppin  saffc  es  a  cat.  '  Whee-chee,1  '  whee-chuef 
'  wee-chee,  whistled  Missis  Staples,  so  low  an'  sweet  yu 
jis'  cud  hear  hit.  The  tone  of  that  whistil  sed  '  cum 
lov,'  '  cum  lov,'  so  plain  I  cud  scarcely  sit  still  myself 
I  swear,  I  thot  I  hearn  A^s  heart  a-beatin.  I  jis'  know'd 
mine  wud  a  been  a-poundin  like  the  devil  a-beatin  tan- 
bark,  ef  I'd  been  a-spcetin  what  he  wer." 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Mr.  Lovingood,"  said  an  old  batch- 
elor,  an  old  field  schoolmaster,  who  was  one  of  Sut's 
auditory,  "  allow  me  to  interrupt  you,  that  I  may  more 


264  TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF. 

clearly  comprehend  your  story.     "What  "was  this   Me 
Dalton  in  expectation  of?" 

Sut  looked  up  at  the  overhanging  elm  boughs,  and 
said  carelessly,  "  Oh,  nuffin  but  his  note,  I  speck.  Say 
yu  thar  mister  a-b  ab,  is  the  fool-killer  in  the  parts  yu 
cum  frum,  duin  his  juty,  ur  is  he  ded  ?" 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  personage." 

"  I  thot  so,  by  the  jinglin  Jehosephat." 

The  old  gentleman  turned  to  me  and  asked  in  a  confi 
dential  whisper,  "  Is  not  that  person  slightly  deranged  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  he  is  only  troubled  at  times  with 
violent  attacks  of  durn'd  fool." 

"  He  is  laboring  under  one  now,  is  he  not?" 

I  nodded  my  head.     "  Go  on,  Sut." 

"  When  ole  Doltin  got  wifm  ten  steps,  Missis  Staples 
stept  forrid  outen  the  briars,  wif  her  bonnet  sorter  over 
her  face.  He  jis'  gin  a  low,  gurglin  sort  ove  bray,  an' 
SDrung  squar  at  her.  He  grabbed  her  in  his  arms 
a-dartin  his  ole  pouch'd  out  mouf  at  her  face,  like  a 
blue  crane  sen's  his  bill  arter  minners  ;  she  a-dodgin  so 
that  every  dip  hit  the  bonnet.  Sez  he,  '  My  dear  Mar- 
garet,   what  makes   you   so   skittish,  tu-night.     Don't 

be ' 

"  Wat  Mastin  hed  closed  his  paw  on  tu  the  knot  ove 
his  neck  hanketcher,  an'  comenc'd  a-twis'in  hit  hard. 

" '  Yu  infurnel  ole  scoundril,  I'se  cotch  yu  at  las.' 
What's  yu  a-duin  wif  my  wife  ?' 

" '  Nuf — nufin.     Yer — yer  wife,  got  her  coatail  tangled 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF.  265 

in  the  briars,  an'  I  wer  jis'  in  a  neighborly  way  ontanglin 
her.' 

" '  Yas,'  sez  Wat,  '  an'  dam  ef  I  don't  ontangle  yu,  in 
in  a  neighborly  way.  Say  the  shortes'  an'  mos'  sarchin 
pray'r  yu  knows,  far  yore  season's  over.' 

"  Jis'  then  Missis  Staples  spoke  up,  like  she  wer  vish- 
usly  mad,  'Don't  yu  git  too  smart,  Wat  Mastin,  TDOut 
yer  sorril-top  wife.  I  aint  her,  by  a  frock  full  Jis'  go 
home  tu  Mary,  an'  simmer  down  cool ;  yu  hev  no  bis- 
niss  yere.' 

"  Wat  'tended  tu  be  stonish'd.  Sez  he,  '  I  begs  par- 
don,' an'  step'd  back  frum  Doltin.  The  ole  cuss  wer 
pow'fly  'stonish'd  hissef,  an'  glad  all  over  +00,  fur  hit  spilt 
Wat's  title  tu  choke  him  tu  deth. 

"  Hu  in  the  devil  kin  she  be,  an'  hu  wer  she  'spectin 
tu  meet  ?  wer  now  Doltin's  tho'ts,  an'  he  aiged  up  tu 
her  agin,  when  Wirt  at  one  spring  lit  atwix'  em. 

"  '  Susan — Doltin,  by I   wants   tu   know  what 

this  means  ?'  Doltin  tho't  ove  the  venerson  laig,  an' 
he  sed  in  a  houn'  whimper,  '  I  never  tetched  her,'  an' 
broke  tu  run.  In  two  jumps  Wirt  cotch  'im  and  fotch 
'im  back  by  his  coat  collar. 

"  Sez  Missis  Staples,  '  Han'  me  the  shawl  yu  promis'd 
me,  (she  said  this  sorter  low,  and  pitiful  like,)  afore  yu 
desarts  me.' 

"  '  Shawl !  shawl !'  shouted  Wirt.  '  Oh !  yu  preshus 
pair  ove  dam  furnitur-takers.' 

"  I  now  stept  forth  jis'  so,  'bout  seving  foot.  Sez  1, 
12 


c266  TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF. 

1  Mr.  Doltin,  I  hes  fotch  yu  that  note  yu  rit  tu  Mary 
Mastin,'  in  a  seckrit  sort  ove  whisper. 

" '  Never  mine  nit  now,  Mister  Lovingood,  never 
mine,  I'se  pow'fl  busy  jis'  now ;  sumuther  time'll  du.' 

"  Sez  I,  '  Yu  mus'  take  hit  now.  Yu  talked  ove  jugin 
me  'bout  the  durn'd  thing.  Yere  hit  is,  an'  I  reach'd 
hit  forrid,  an'  Wat  grabbed  hit.     Ole  Doltin  groan'd. 

"  Sez  Wat,  a-rabbin  hit  onder  Doltin's  snout,  '  that's 
tester mony  ontu  yu,  yu  dam  ole  raskil.' 

"  '  Yas,'  sez  Wirt,  a-pintin  tu  Susan, '  an  thar  stans'  one 
hundred  and  twenty  poun's  more  testermony.'1 

"  She  purtended  to  cry,  an'  she  sed,  '  Oh,  Mister  Dol- 
tin, what  made  yu  use  me  so  ?' 

"  '  I  wish  I  may  drap  dead  ef  ever  I  used  yu  at  all,' 
sed  Doltin,  right  quick. 

"  '  Yu  hes  ruinated  me,  Mister  Doltin.' 

"  '  I  never]  said  Doltin. 

"  '  An'  yu  never  fotch  me — no — no — sh-sh-all  arter 
all,  hu,  hu,  hu ;'  an'  she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  '  I  don't  owe  you  no  shawl ;  wish  I  may  drap  dead 
in  a  minut  ef  I  dus.' 

" '  Hu,  hu,  hu,'  sez  she,  '  yu  never  gin  me  a  thing  yet, 
yu  dratted  stingy  hog,  yu.' 

"  I  swar  he  wer  the  wust  befoozeled  man  I  ever  saw ; 
he  rub'd  his  eyes  wif  his  fis,'  an'  batted  em  a  few  times, 
then  he  looked  wide  open  owl  fashun,  fas'  at  wun  an 
then  at  tuther,  like  he'd  been  dreamin  a  orful  night-marf 
an'  wurn't  sure  whether  he  wer  awake  yet.     Susan,  still 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF.  267 

a-^ryin,  an'  a-talkin  'bout  hevin  his  heart's  blood, 
tellin  Missis  Doltin,  killin  hersef,  an'  I  dono  what  all 
A  gran'  tho't  now  struck  im,  an'  he  jis'  roar'd,  '  I  is  the 
high  sheriff  ove  this  county,  an'  I  cumands  the  peace.'' 

"  Wurn't  that  a  smashin  lick  ? 

"  Sez  Wirt,  '  Strip,  high  sheriff  ove  this  county  ;  I'se 
gwine  tu  hang  yu  dorg  fashun.  Wat,  han'  me  that  ropa* 
The  blusterin  ole  bell  wether  jis'  wilted  down'  an' 
sot  in  tu  strippin  slow,  an'  a-beggin,  an'  a-promisin,  an' 
a-makin  money  offers,  we  helpin  him  tu  du  his  shuckin. 
I  foun'  a  par  ove  wimin's  shoes,  his  buckskin  gloves  an' 
a  smellin  bottil  in  his  coat  pockit.  Missis  Staples  slipt 
off  tu  the  hous',  when  the  strippin  begun,  an'  I  don't 
blame  her. 

"Well,  when  we  got  all  off  bat  his  shut  an'  shoes,' 
Wirt  slipp'd  the  noose  in  wun  aind  ove  the  rope  over 
his  head,  an'  thar  wer  tied  tu  tuther  aind  a  ball  ove 
tow  soaked  in  tupentine  es  big  es  a  half  bushel,  wifout 
his  seein  hit.  I'd  fotch  a  par  ove  wile,  vigrus,  skeer'd 
tom-cats  in  each  aind  ove  a  bag,  wif  leather  cullars,  an 
a  big  fish-hook  sowed  tu  each  cullar  by  a  foot  ove 
strap.  While  Wirt  wer  fixin  the  noose,  so  es  not  tu 
choke,  I  slipp'd  up  ahine  him,  an'  hooked  a  cat  tu  each 
corner  ove  his  shutail,  a-holden  em  off;  he  wer  so 
trimblin  an'  skeered  he  didn't  feel  me.  While  I  wer 
duin  this,  Wat  struck  a  match  an'  lit  the  tupentine. 
sayin : 

"  '  I  means  tu  toas'  yu  es  yu  swings,  yu  dam  malea- 


268  TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF. 

factory.'     I  jis'  craned  forrid,  an'  whispered   intu  his 
year — 

"  '  Bulge  squar  fur  the  briars,  they  won't  foller  in  thar.' 
"  By  the  great  golly,  when  he  hearn  that  sentimint, 
cuppled  es  hit  wer  wif  Wat's  toastin  idear,  he  jis  made  a 
rale  hoss  lunge,  art  I  drapH  the  cats.     Wun  tuck  up  his 
bar  back,  a-haulin  up  arter  him  the  noth  corner  ove  the 
shutail  onder-handid,  an'  tuther  wun  tuck   down  his 
thigh,  a-haulin  the  souf  corner  ove  the  shutail  arter  him. 
They  pulled  agin  each  uther  like  ontu  two  wile  steers 
in  a  yaller-jackids  nes'.     The  cat  a-gwine  up  hill,  made 
the  ole  feller  tote  that  side,  an'  shoulder  sorter  ahead 
ove  tuther,  like  he  wer  leanin  frum  a  hot  fire.     The 
cat  gwine  down  hill,  made  him  lift  that  laig  like  a 
spring-halted  hoss,  only  a  heap  faster,  while  the  briars 
hookin  him  everywhar,  made  him  dodge  all  over,  every- 
way  at   onst.     Frum  his  moshuns,   he   mout  a-been 
pussessed  wif  the  devil,  pow'fully.     Yu  never  seed  sich 
lap-sided,  high  up,  low  down,   windin  about,  jerkin, 
oneven  runnin  in  the  world,  but  every  durned  step  ove 
hit  wer  strait  away  frum  whar  we  wer,  squar  thru  the 
briar  patch.     The  tupentine  lit  up  a  bright  road  ahine 
him,  kivered  wif  broke  down  an'  tore  up  briars,  an'  his 
white  shut,  an'  the  cats'  eyes  'zembled  a  flag  ove  truce, 
kivered  wif  litnin-bugs.     1  think  I  never  seed  es  meny 
cat's-eyes  in  es  many  places  afore,  tu  be  no  more  cats 
than  thar  wer ;  tails  too,  wer  ruther  numerous,  an'  sor- 
ter swelled,  an'  claws  a  plenty.     The  noise  he  made, 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF.  269 

soundid  jis'  like  a  two-hoss  mowin-merslieen,  drav  by 
chain-lightnin,  a-cuttin  thru  a  dry  cane  brake  on  a  big 
bet.     An'  thar  wer  wif  the  noise  a  ondercurrent  ove 
scan,  like  tarin  starched  muslin ;  this,  I  speck  wer  the 
briars  an'  cats   a-breakin   holts.     '  Ha,  ha !'  sez   Wirt, 
'  wudn't  he  be  great  in  a  new  country  tu  open  out  roads, 
ur  tote  news  ove   the  cumin  ove  the  Injuns?     Hell! 
how  he   travils !    listen,  jis'   listen.     Don't   he   make 
things  roar  ?'     I  run  tu  his  hoss,  an'  mounted,  an'  tuck 
thru  tu  Wat's  afore  he  got  roun  that  far.     I  jump't  off 
in  the  thicket,  an'  crept  up  tu  the  road,  furnint  Wat's 
door,  tu  see  him  tar  apas'.     Yere  he  cum ;  I  seed  his 
lite  a-shinin,  long  afore  I  seed  him,  way  abuv  the  trees  ; 
hit  warn't  hid  onder  no  bushel.     Wirt  wer  openin  on 
his  trail,  makin  the  mountains  ring  wif  yells  an'  dread- 
ful   threats.     Doltin  toted   his   lite  pow'ful  irregular; 
sumtimes  hit  wer  trailin  on  the  yeath,  an'  sumtimes  hit 
warn't,  by  'bout  fifteen  foot.     Hit  wer  a-lightin  on,  an' 
a-flyin  off  the  fence,  on  bof  sides  ove  the  lane,  an'  yu 
cud  a-seed  tu  a-pick'd  strawberries,  an'  hit  roar'd  like  a 
storm ;  the  moshuns  ove  that  lite,  I  speck,  wer  govern'd 
by  the  workin  ove  the  cats.      I  seed  the  activ  bulge  ove 
one  cat  onder  his  shut,  a-tryin  hits  durndes  tu  pull  hits 
corner  ove  the  shutail  up  onder  the  collar,  at  the  back 
ove  his  naik ;  the  tuther  cat  wer  a-dividin  hits  time, 
'bout  ekal,  a-jumpin  at  the  weeds,  an'  a-tryin  tu  run 
furder    down    his    big    laig,    an'    they   swap't    work 
now   an'   then:   the  down-hill  cat  wud  go  up  onder 


270  TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF. 

the  shut  an'  a-tarin  big  fight  imejuntlj  foller'd,  aindin 
in  tuther  cat  cumin  down  a  spell.  While  they  wer  bof 
up  thar  atwixt  Doltin  an'  his  shut,  he  look'd  pow'ful 
hump-back'd,  an'  lordamity !  how  low  he'd  run  then. 
Sweet  Margery !  jis'  think  ove  two  agravated  onsanti- 
fied  he  cats  at  yearnis'  war,  makin  yer  bar-back  thar 
battil  groun,  an'  pendin  on  yer  hide  fur  all  thar  fool- 
holts.  I  swar  hits  a  rale  red-pepper  waknin  idear,  jis'  tu 
think  ove,  wifout  a  cat  in  a  mile — jewillekins !  The 
eyes  an'  tails  wer  dreadful  tu  behole,  an'  thar  groanin 
an'  spittin  beat  cats  when  they'se  courtin,  wus  nur  they 
dus  city  folks  at  the  same  work. 

"  Mary  hed  hearn  the  noise,  an'  seed  the  lite,  so  she 
cum  tu  the  gate,  jis'  es  the  ole  exhited  fernomenon  tore 
apas'.     She  fotch  a  scream. 

"  '  Dear  bless  us  !  what's  all  that  ?  Oh,  mammy,  run 
out  yere  quick,  an'  see  the  devil  a-chasin  whippwills. ' 

"  When  she  sed  that,  Doltin  tho't  ove  the  whippor- 
will  he'd  hearn  at  the  briar-patch,  an'  b'leved  Mary  wer 
mixed  up  wif  the  thing,  an'  he  sobbed  out — 

"  '  Oh  yu  dam  'saitful  b — h,  this  is  yure  work. 
"    "  '  Oh,  mammy,  mammy,  that's  poor  Mister  Doltin's 
voice,  as  sure  as  yu  ar  born'd !  the  poor  dear  man's  ded, 
an'  that's  him.     Ole  Smutty's   arter,  wif  a  torch  ove 
hell-fire.     I  dus  wonder  what  he's  been  duin  ?' 

"She  sed  this  sorter  whifflin.  I  put  my  han  roun 
my  mouf,  an'  bellered  thru  em  in  the  mos'  doleful  way 
yu  ever  hearn,  frum  the  thicket — 


TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF.  271 

"  '  Margarit  Mastin,  the  lawfal  wife  ove  Watson  Mas- 
tin,  the  blacksmith,  prepar  tu  go  down  whar  thar's  no 
sly  courtin,  nur  rar  ripe  garden-seed.  Margarit,  thar's 
rath  tu  cum,  yer  crap's  laid  by,  prepar,'  an'  I  groaned. 

"She  arched  her  naik,  an'  tuck  a  wild  blazin  look 
over  at  the  thicket,  like  she  wer  studyin  'bout  sumthin, 
an'  sez  she,  short  an'  vigrus — 

"  'Durn  my  soul  ef  I  go  a  step,'  an'  jis'  busted  thru 
the  standin  corn  like  a  runaway  hoss.  Thinks  I,  that 
ar  blade  will  never  git  religun  frum  a  skeer.  The  ole 
'oman  got  tu  the  door,  jis'  in  time  tu  hear  the  las' 
words,  an'  the  soun  Mary  made  a-tarin  thru  the  corn. 
She  wer  a-pinnin  up  her  frock-buss  urn.    Sez  I,  doleful — 

"  '  Peggy  Jane,  my  b'loved  wife,  I'se  in  hell,  a-suf- 
ferin  fur  robbin  the  peddler ;  yu  made  me  du  hit  /'  Sez 
she— 

"Sammy,  I  didn't ;  I  only  tole  yu  we  needed  his 
truck.'     Sez  I — 

"  '  Fetch  me  sum  warter,  fur  my  tung's  parch'd  wif 
fervent  heat'     Sez  she — 

"Thar's  a  spring  back  ove  the  ridge  thar,'  (that  wer 
a  cussed  lie.)     Sez  I — 

"  '  I'm  a-cummin  fur  a  gourd.'     Sez  she — 

"  '  Thar's  nara  gourd  yere.'  Dam  ef  she  didn't  hist 
all  her  coats,  haf  a  foot  abuv  her  knees,  an'  tuck  thru 
the  co'n  too. 

"  I  went  intu  the  cabin,  drawed  one  ove  Dol tin's 
gloves  ontu  littil  Ear  Ripe's  head,  fur  a  night-cap.     Hits 


272  TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF. 

name  wer  printed  wif  ink  roun  the  wris' ;  this  went 
roun  hits  forrid ;  tuther  glove  I  put  in  "Wat's  overcoat 
pockid,  a-hangin  on  the  wall,  mounted  the  hoss,  an' 
tuck  acrost  the  ridge  tu  head  off  Doltin  at  the  ferry. 
The  ferryman's  ole  whipporwill  wife  hearn  the  noise 
ove  his  cumin,  an'  seed  the  lite  shinin  frU  the  winder. 
So  she  bounced  outen  bed  in  her  shiftail,  an'  run  tu  the 
door.     Sez  she — 

"  '  Laws  a  massy !  ole  man,  git  up  quick,  an'  set  em 
over ;  make  haste,  ur  they'll  swim.  The  big  show's 
a-cumin  in  a  hurry,  fur  yere's  the  rhionoserenus  aready, 
an'  lots  ove  monkeys  clost  ahine  him,  an'  the  big  Bar- 
num  Bengal  lite  arter  them.  Good  lordy  !  what  tails ! 
grashus  me,  what  a  noise !   marcyful  hevings,  what  a 

belly !  an' Oh,   lord  a  massy   on  my  poor  soul ! 

sakes  alive !' 

"  She  pernounced  these  las'  words  like  she  wer  pow'- 
ful  shamed,  an'  I  speck  the  fool  wer,  fur  she  pulled  up 
what  she  tuck  tu  be  her  aprun,  an'  kivered  her  face, 
an'  shet  the  door  wif  a  snap,  an'  lef  hersef  on  the  outside. 
I  holler'd  '  Higher — yer  forrid  ain't  kivered  yet.'  She 
run  roun  the  chimley  outen  sight,  still  holdin  up  her 
aprun. 

"Doltin  flew  apas',  shot  down  the  bank,  run  thru  the 
ferryboat  an'  plouted  off  the  fur  aind  head  fust  intu 
the  river.  When  he  got  farly  tu  swimin,  hit  wer  cum- 
furtin  an'  nice  tu  look  at  frum  a  high  pint.  He  swum 
breas'  high  fur  tuther  bank,  and  the  durn'd  cats,  con- 


TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF.  273 

trary  tu  the  las',  wer  swimin  far  this  wif  thar  tails  strait 
up,  an'  leanin  frum  each  uther.  This  straiched  his 
shutail  flat  ove  the  warter,  an'  the  lite  wer  a-bouncin 
over  the  waves  on  Dol tin's  wake,  aidgin  em  all  wif 
gold.  He  look'd  like  a  big  high  preshur  snapin  turkil, 
wif  a  dark  head,  white  shell,  an'  the  cats  answered  fur 
a  par  ove  activ,  brindil  hine  laigs.  The  river  wer 
trubbil'd  pow'ful,  a-slushin  high  up  the  banks,  an' 
a-slappin  up  agin  the  rake  ove  the  ferry-boat,  fur  he 
wer  a-stirrin  hit  plum  tu  the  mud.  Every  now  an' 
then  he'd  snort  like  a  hoss,  an'  look  back  over  his 
shoulder ;  his  eyes  wer  es  big  es  a  bull's,  an'  blazed  like 
ontu  two  furnace-doors ;  that  mine  ove  his'n  mus' 
a-been  pow'ful  active  jis  'bout  then.  Cats — ropes — 
mad  husbuns — an'  a  orful  hell  perdominatin  amung 
loose  tho'ts  ove  wimen  an'  thar  onsartinty  as  he  riz 
tuther  bank,  wif  the  limber  cats  danglin  roun  his  laigs. 
I  holler' d  over  : 

"  '  Say  thar,  rar  ripe  cat  'tachmints  am  wus  in  law 
nur  sashararas,  ain't  they?' 

"  He  never  sed  a  word,  but  crawled  tired  like  intu  the 
paw-paw  thicket,  drownded  cats,  rope,  wet  tow,  an'  all. 
When  he  got  home  he  tole  his  wife  a  doleful  tale. 
How  the  Democrats,  jis'  caze  he  wudn't  tell  the  no- 
nuthings'  seckrit,  hed  tied  him  tu  a  wile  hoss's  tail, 
an'  turned  hit  loose,  an'  then  started  a  passenger  injine 
ontu  his  trail  tu  skeer  the  hoss.  He  knowed  they  did, 
fur  he  seed  the  head-lite  clost  arter  'im,  the  hole  way, 
12* 


274  TRAPPING  A  SHERIFF. 

an'  hearn  the  tchish,  tchish  shew  !  ove  the  steam.  (Cats, 
George,  by  golly !  nuffin  but  cats.)  What  a  thundrin 
liar  that  man  mus'  be ;  bat  lyin's  born'd  wif  sum  folks, 
jis  like  squint-eyes.  While  his  wife  wer  ilin  ove  his 
torn  hide,  an'  a  checkerin  his  back  wif  stripes  ove 
court-plarster,  she  axed  him  how  so  much  fur  cum  tu 
be  stickin  tu  his  wouns.  He  sed  the  hoss  run  thru  a 
hatter's  shop  wif  'im.     Warn't  that  right  down  shifty  ? 

"  Then  sez  she,  '  Yer  shut  an'  yu  bof  smell  sorter  cat- 
ty, strong  like.  When  she  hinted  at  cats,  he  rar'd  up  on 
aind,  lookin  wild  roun  the  room ;  sez  he,  '  Whar's  eny 
cats  V 

"  George,  them  ar  tom-cats  mus'  a-scratched  intu  his 
conshuns  afore  they  died,  fur  he  jined  chuch  jis'  es  soon 
he  got  abil  tu  walk  thar.  Hits  strange,  haint  hit  ?  In 
ole  times  I  hearn  tell  they  hed  cities  whar  fellers  run 
tu,  an'  wer  safe  arter  they'd  dun  sum  pow'ful  devil- 
mint." 

"Yes,  Sut;  cities  of  refuge." 

"  Well,  dura  my  rags  ef  gittin  ove  religun  ain't  the 
city  ove  rayfuge  now-a-days ;  yu  jis'  let  a  raskil  git 
hissef  cotch,  an'  maul'd,  fur  his  dam  meanness,  an'  he 
jines  chuch  jis'  es  soon  es  he  kin  straitch  his 
face  long  enuf  tu  fill  the  pius  standurd,  an'  that's 
eighteen  inches  fur  lean  peopil,  an'  fourteen  fur  fat 
ones.  I  hes  a  city  ove  rayfuge  mysef,  what  I  allers 
keeps  along  wif  me,"  and  Sut  looked  down  proudly 
and  fondly  at  his  legs. 


TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF.  275 

"I  forgot  tu  menshun  a  day  ur  two  arter  the  cat- 
race,  I  met  up  wif  "Wat  Mastin  at  the  store.  He  mo- 
shuned  me  roun  back  ove  the  hous'.     Sez  he — 

"  '  Sut,  hell's  tu  pay  at  our  hous'.  Mary's  been  hid 
out  sumwhar  till  this  mornin.  She  cum  up  draggil'd 
an'  hungry,  an'  won't  say  a  durn'd  word.  An'  ole 
Missis  McKildrin's  plum  gone.'     Sez  I — 

"  <  Ain't  yu  glad  ?' 

"He  stretched  his  mouf  intu  the  wides'  smile  yu 
ever  seed,  an'  slappin  me  on  the  back,  sez  he — 

"  '  I  «,  by  golly  !' 

"  Then  he  lookt  serious  wif  his  head  down.  Sez 
he— 

"  '  Doltin  mus'  be  a  pow'ful  parseverin  man  when  he 
sets  his  head  fur  enything.'     Sez  I — 

«  'Why?' 

"  '  Caze  don't  yu  think,  wif  them  cats,  an'  that  skeer, 
an'  that  hurtin,  an'  us  arter  'im,  tu  hang  'im  es  he  tho't, 
he  tuck  time  tu  stop  an'  see  Mary  /'     Sez  I — 

"  <  Oh  no !' 

"  'Yes  he  did,  fur  I  foun  one  ove  his  gloves  in  my 
overcoat  pockid,  an'  he'd  gin  tuther  one  tu  the  baby, 
fur  a  night-cap.' 

"  George,  Wat  Mastin  hes  a  right  thick  streak  ove 
durn'd  fool  in  him,  sure  es  yu  are  born'd. 

"  Bout  three  days  arter  seein  Wat  I  meets  up  wif 
Mary  on  the  road.  She  wer  swingin  her  sun-bonnit 
afore  her  by  the  strings,  walkin  fas'  an'  lookin  down  at 
the  groun.     Sez  I — 


276  TRAPPING  A   SHERIFF. 

"  '  Mornin !  Missis  Mastin ;  I  lies  lost  two  pow'fu) 
fine  cats,  hes  yu  seed  eny  thing  ove  'em  roun  yere?' 
Sez  she,  an'  her  eyes  blazed — 

"  '  I  hope  they  ar  in  hell,  whar  yu  ought  tu  be,  yn 
infunel  mischief-make  yu !' 

f    "The   'oman   sartinly  hes  got  sumfin  agin  me.     I 
wonders  what  hit  kin  be  ?" 


DAD'S  DOG-SCHOOL. 


I  had  often  laughed  at  an  anecdote  anent  training  a 
puppy  to  hold  fast,  and  doubtless  so  has  many  of  my 
readers,  as  told  by  the  gifted  W.  T.  Haskill. 

I  began  to  tell  it  one  summer  night  at  our  camp-fire, 
when  Sut  interrupted  me  : 

"  Stop,  George ;  yu  can't  du  jestis'  tu  that  ar  doleful 
bisness.  Hit  happen'd  ur  rather  tuck  place  apupus,  in 
our  famerly  ;  hit  cudn't  a-been  did  by  eny  uther  peopil 
on  this  yeath  but  us,  fur  hit  am  plum  clarified  dam 
fool,  from  aind  tu  aind.  Dad  plan'd  hit ;  an'  him,  an' 
mam,  an'  Sail,  an'  Bent,  an'  me — oh,  yas !  an'  the  pup. 
I'd  like  tu  forgot  him — we  did  the  work,  an'  ef  we 
didn't  make  a  purfeck  nnish'd  cumplete  durn'd  momox 
outen  the  thing,  thar's  no  use  in  hevin  a  genus  fur  bein 
infunel  nat'ral  born  fools  et  all. 

"  Dad,  he's  es  tetchy  about  hit  tu  this  day,  es  a  sore- 
back  hoss  is  'bout  green  flies.  Ef  yu  want  tu  see  him 
shed  his  shut,  quick  es  a  fox  kin  cum  outen  a  bag,  an' 
fall  intu  getherin  rocks,  an'  then  flingin  em,  jis'  dam 


78 


DAD  S   DOG-SCHOOL. 


permiskusly,  a-soltin  an'  a-pepperin  the  job  wif  red  not 
ravenus  homeade  cussin,  yu  growl  like  ontu  a  dorg 
a-holdin  ontu  a  hanketcher,  nr  a  rag,  an'  yu'll  mons'ous 
soon  see  a  bal'-headed  man  hot  enuf  tu  fry  spit.  Hits  a 
pow'M  delikit  'speriment  tu  try  an'  git  out  wifout  a 
scab  abuv  yer  years.  Be  purfeckly  redy  tu  run  es 
soon  es  yu  growl,  ef  yu  don't,  hit'll  rain  on  yu  bad. 
Sures'  way  is  tu  growl  arter  yu  hes  started,  an'  ef  yu's 
mons'ous  fas'  on  foot  yu  may  venter  tu  holler,  '  Sick 
'im  Sugar !'  but  be  keerful ;  I'se  seed  hit  tried. 

"Yu  see  when  I  wer  'bout  sixteen,  Steve  Crawley 
•  gin  me  a  bnll  pup,  the  culler  ove  rich  cream,  white  on- 
der  the  belly,  an'  on  the  lower  aind  ove  the  laigs,  blue 
snout,  red  eyes,  wrinkl'd  forrid,  an'  show'd  his  teef  even 
when  he  wus  sleepin.  Ugly  as  a  she  ho'net,  an'  brave  es 
a  trap't  rat.  Dad  tuck  pow'fully  tu  'im,  'caze  thar  naters 
wer  sorter  like,  I  reckon.  He  wer  the  only  critter  I 
8ver  know'd  dad  tu  be  good  tu,  an'  narra  pusson  yet. 

"  Late  one  Saturday,  we  sot  in  an'  kill'd  a-tarin  big 
black  an'  white  yearlin  bull  beastes,  an'  on  Sunday 
mornin,  arter  gittin  a  big  bellyful  ove  fried  liver  an' 
chopp't  inyuns,  dad  sot  down  ontu  the  cabin  steps,  in 
the  sun,  a-playin  wif  '  Sugar,'  that  wer  the  pup's  name. 
I  wer  mounted  ontu  the  fence  a-shavin  seed-ticks  ofen 
my  laigs  wif  a  barlow  knife,  an'  mam  wer  in  the  yard 
sittin  ontu  the  half-bushel  wif  three  ur  four  ove  the 
childers'  heads  in  her  lap,  bizzy  rite  in  the  middil  ove 
a  big  still  hunt  arter  insex,     At  las',  sez  dad — 


dad's  dog-school.  279 

"  Silt,  s'pose  yu  tote  Sugar  off  wif  yu  down  tu  the 
crick  tu  keep  'im  frum  follerin  ove  me,  an'  seein  what 
I  dus.  Yu  cum  back  when  yu  hears  me  beller  like 
ontu  a  yung  bull,  an'  I'll  larn  yer  dorg  tu  hole  on.  I'se 
jis'  studied  out  the  bes'  way  in  creashun  tu  make  'im 
hold  tu  enything  ontil  bunty  hens  sprouts  tails.  This 
yere  day's  work'll  be  the  makin  ove  the  pup.' 

"  '  How  on  the  yeath,  dad,  will  yu  du  hit  ?'  sez  I. 

"  Dad  got  up  an'  cotch  a  big  hanful  ove  britches 
ahine,  atwixt  the  wais'bun  an'  the  fork,  rayther  nigher 
the  fork  tho',  an'  arter  ginin  hissef  a  few  good  holesum 
scratchin  rubs,  sed — 

"  '  Jis'  so ;  I'll  make  yer  sis  Sail,  thar,  sow  me  up  in 
Suggins's  hide,  (that  wer  the  yearlin's  name,  mine  yu,)  j^- 
an'  I'll  play  honed  cattil  rite  squar  intu  Sugar's  han, 
while  yu  sicks  'im  on,  an'  ef  yu  dus  the  sickin  part  like 
yu  orter,  hit'll  be  the  makin  ove  that  ar  pup.  "When 
he  gits  a  savin  holt  ontu  the  hide,  yu  seize  his  tail,  an' 
sorter  pull  'im  back,  but  don't  yu  break  the  holt,  ef  yu 
dus  yu  spiles  a  dorg,  an'  when  I  cums  outen  the  hide, 
dam  ef  I  don't  spile  yu.' 

"  Mam  cracked  a  insex  vigrusly  atwixt  her  thumbs, 
an'  then  wiped  her  nails  ontu  her  gown  along  her 
thighs,  an'  sez  she — 

"  '  Good  law  sakes !  now  fur  more  onanimated  fool, 
ishness.  Hu  ever  hearn  ove  the  likes  bein  dun  by  the 
daddy  ove  a  famerly,  an'  him  a  bal'-headed  man  et 
that,  a-shedin  his  har  fur  the  grave.     Lovingood,  yu'l] 


280  dad's  dog-school. 

keep  on  wif  yer  devilmint  an'  nonsense,  ontil  yu  fetch 
the  day  ove  jedgement  ontu  our  bar  heads  sum  night, 
kerthrash,  afore  hits  time,  ur  sum  uther  ailment — col- 
.y  ery — measils — pollygamy,  ur  sum  sich  like,  jis'  see  ef 
yu  don't,  an'  then  yu'll  run,  an'  leave  me  tu  fight  hit 
out  by  mysef,  yu  know  yu  will.  Now  jis'  quit,  an' 
let  that  ar  blasted  roun-headed  pup  edecate  hissef  like 
yer  uther  childer  dus.' 

"  'Shet  up  that  ar  snagy  feedin-hole  ove  yurn,  yu 
durn'd  ole  she  hempbrake;  yu'd  'pose  my  gwine  tu 
heaving,  I  raley  du  b'leve,'  sez  dad. 

"  '  No  I  won't :'  sez  mam,  shakin  her  head.  '  Yu'll 
never  try  tu  du  that,'  an'  she  peaner'd  her  fingers  down 
thru  the  har,  along  the  side  ove  one  ove  the  childer's 
heads,  clost  arter  a  knowin  ole  insex,  what  hed  been 
raced  before ;  he  wer  aimin  fur  the  wrinkil  onder  the 
year-flap,  but  he  never  got  thar ;  he  got  hissef  busted 
like  ontu  a  'cussion-cap,  'bout  a  inch  an'  a  'alf  frum  his 
den. 

"  '  Now,'  sez  dad,  a-turnin  tu  me,  still  a-ru¥bii»  slow 
wif  the  hanful  ove  britches,  '  yu  see,  Sut,  he'll  git  good 
holts  ontu  the  hide,  smell  the  blood,  an'  larn  the  nater 
ove  the  varmint  he's  a-contendin  wif.  I'll  beller  an' 
make  b'leve  I'se  a-tryin  tu  git  loose't,  but  not  ack  cow 
for  enuf  tu  tar  loose't,  ur  dishartin  'im.  Better  nur 
gwine  tu  school  tu  a  Yankee  cuttin-box  'oman,  a  durn'd 
site ;  an'  in  a  month,  jis'  let  ole  widder  Bradly's  cow 
jump  intu  the  cabbiges  agin,  ef  she's  fonc(  ove  freezin 


DADS   DOG-SCHOOL.  281 

snouts  wif  a  dorg.  He'll  stay  wif  her  ontil  apas'  milkin 
time  nex  day,  an'  not  quit  then.  Oh !  I  tell  yu  hit'll 
be  the  makin  ove  the  pup.' 

"  So  dad  tuck  Sail  off  tu  the  loom-hous'  whar  the 
hide  wer  a-hangin.  I  hed  soltid  hit  good,  tu  keep 
frum  spilin,  till  dad  cud  turn  hit  intu  whisky,  an'  I 
whistled  off  Sugar.  Arter  I  hed  gone  a  few  steps,  I 
hollered  < Oh  dad !' 

"  '  What  ?' 

"  '  S'pose  Sugar  gits  that  savin  holt  yu  wer  speakin 
ove,  ontu  yu,  what  am  I  tu  du  then?' 

"  '  Du  hell !'  sez  dad,  '  du  nuthin  but  sick  'im  on. 
Hu  ever  hearn  ove  a  man's  bein  dorg-bit  thru  a  cow- 
hide?'    SezI— 

" '  He's  pow'ful  fur  reachin  fur  a  pup,  better  mine, 
dad.' 

"  I  seed  'im  begin  tu  hunt  fur  a  rock,  an'  I  struck  a 
peart  shanghi  trot  fur  the  crick.  Me  an'  the  yung  dorg 
lay  down  amung  the  mint,  an'  listen'd  tu  the  gurglin 
ove  the  warter. 

"Well,  thinks  I,  my  juty's  a  plain  one  enyhow. 
'Jis'  sick  'im  on  an'  du  nuthin  else;'  an'  I  means  tu 
du  hit,  fur  hit  am  tu  be  the  makin  ove  yu,  my  sweet 
Sugar,  I  raley  du  'speck. 

"  Torreckly  I  hearn  dad  a-bellerin  jis'  the  bes'  sampil 
ove  a  yearlin's  nise  yu  ever  hearn,  'sceptin  hit  wer  a 
scrimpshun  too  coarse,  an'  a  littil  too  fas' ;  dad  wer  ex- 
hited.     '  Boor,  woo  woff — Bohua  a  huah ' — fust  rate,  hj 


282  dad's  dog-school. 

the  jinglin  Jehosaphat !  thinks  I,  an'  Sugar  cock't  his 
years  an'  bark'd. 

"  Dad  hed  fool'd  the  dorg.  The  only  livin  thing  I 
ever  know'd  'im  tu  fool,  'sceptin  a  new  doggery-keeper 
now  an'  then,  an'  mam,  she  sed  he  fool'd  her  pow'ful 
onst,  that  wer  when  she  swore  hersef  tu  be  the  mammy 
ove  his  brats. 

"  Well,  thar  he  wer  in  the  yard  ontu  his  all  fours, 
sow'd  up  body  an'  soul  in  the  raw  hide,  hary  side  out,  an' 
he'd  tuck  off  every  durn'd  stich  ove  his  close.  I  tho't 
pow'fully  how  my  soltin  the  hide  wer  gwine  tu  work 
arter  the  show  begun  tu.  be  exhitin,  an'  dad  begun  tu 
sweat.  Sail  hed  sow'd  his  hans  plum  up  intu  the  hide 
ove  the  fore  laigs,  an'  the  loose  huffs  wer  floppin  an' 
crackin  about  below  em  es  he  walked,  ur  paw'd  up  dus'. 

"  She  hed  turn'd  the  head  an'  ho'ns  back,  raw  side 
out,  es  high  es  dad's  eye-brows,  an'  tied  the  nose  tu  the 
naik,  so  he  cud  see  the  inimy.  His  face  wer  smeer'd  wif 
the  blood  an'  fat,  the  tail  trail  'd  arter  him  sorter  dead 
like,  his  sturn  wer  way  up  yander,  his  hine  laigs  bein 
longer  nur  his  fore  wuns,  an'  takin  the  site  altugether 
hit  cudn't  be  beat,  fur  a  big,  ruff,  skeery,  thing  outen 
hell,  ur  a  mad-hous'. 

"  I  seed  mam  a-pullin  up  a  bean-pole  in  the  garden, 
an'  arter  tarin  off  the  vines  she  sot  hit  up  in  the 
chimbley  corner  wifout  dad's  notisin  hit.  I  whispered 
'What's  yu  gwine  tu  du  wif  that  ar  pole?  gwine 
a-fishin,  say  mam  ?'     Sez  she — 


DADS   DOG-SCHOOL.  283 

"  '  I'se  gwine  tu  play  '  She  hempbrake  '  wif  hit  ontu 
that  ar  raw-hide,  arter  a  while.'  Then  she  went  an' 
stud  in  the  door,  wif  her  hans  ontu  her  hips,  an'  the 
childer  mounted  the  fence. 

"  '"Well  dad,'  sez  I,  'is  yu  good  ready?  shall  I  sick 
'im  on?' 

"Dad  wer  fear'd  Sugar'd  fine  out  the  trick,  an' 
wudn't  speak,  but  jis'  nodded  his  head,  an'  durn  ef  he 
even  didn't  du  hit  like  ontu  a  bull. 

"  I  straddled  Sugar,  patted  him  ontu  the  ribs,  an'  sez 
I  '  Sick  'im  boy,'  an'  the  dorg  went  squar  in.  Dad  sor- 
ter horn'd  at  'im  an'  blow'd.  Sugar  flew  roun,  an'  my 
dad  flew  roun ;  the  tail  trail'd  limber  an'  lazy,  an' 
tangled  sumtimes  amung  dad's  hine  laiga  Sugar, 
a-huntin  fur  the  right  spot  tu  bite,  dad  'tendin  like  he 
didn't  want  'im  tu  fine  hit.  The  pup  made  a  gran  rush, 
an'  got  a  holt  ni  ontu  the  root  ove  the  tail,  an'  sot  his- 
sef  back.  My  dad  kick'd  wif  bof  hine  laigs  es  quick 
an'  vigrus  es  a  muel,  an'  'stead  ove  bellerin,  es  he  orter, 
he  shouted  out  right  plain,  '  Oh  hell -fire !'  He  hed 
kicked  the  pup  plum  intu  the  hous',  atwixt  mam's 
laigs.     Sez  I — 

"  '  Dad,  that  won't  du  ;  that  warn't  cow-kickin  at  all, 
them's  rale  stud-hoss  licks.  Yu'll  never  be  the  makin 
ove  the  pup,  ef  yu  pouns  'im  that  ar  way.' 

"'Make  hell  I '  sez  dad,  'this  hide  haint  es  thick 
'bout  the  tail  es  hit  orter  be  fur  a  yearlin's,  an'  he  tried 
tu  rub  hissef  back  thar,  wif  his  fore  laig,  but  the  loose 


284  dad's  d®g-school. 

huffs  flopp't  about  so,  an'  his  hans  bein  sowed  upv  ha 
didn't  du  hit  tu  suit  hissef  much,  so  he  backed  agin 
the  fence,  an'  rubbed  his  rump  agin  the  aind  ove  a 
rail,  hog  fashun,  up  an'  down  wif  a  jerk,  yu  know. 

"  'Is  Sugar's  teef  sharp,  ole  man?'  sez  mam,  sorter 
keerless  like. 

"  'How  du  I  know,'  growled  dad,  'hits  none  ove 
yure  bisness,  nohow,  yu  durn'd  ole  par  ove  warpin-bars, 
what  du  yu  know  'bout  the  makin  ove  pups?' 

"  Mam  sorter  glanced  at  the  bean-pole,  but  sed  nuffin. 
Sugar  wer  sittin  ontu  his  tail,  his  head  an'  fore  laigs 
stuck  out  frum  bnder  mam's  frock-hem,  whar  dad  hed 
sent  'im,  lookin  sorter  like  he  hedn't  made  up  his  mine 
adzackly  what  wer  besT  tu  du. 

"  I  cotch  'im  by  the  nap  ove  the  naik,  an'  drug  'im 
out,  an'  sick'd  'im  on  agin.  Durn  my  shut  ef  he  hadn't 
been  studyin  tu  sum  pupus  while  he  wer  onder  mam's 
coatails,  fur  he  made  his  rush  at  tuther  aind  this  time. 
Sez  I— 

"  'Don't  dodge  dad,  the  hide's  thicker  'bout  the 
ho'ns  then  hit  am  'bout  the  tail.  I'd  scarcely  spoke, 
when  I  hearn  Sugar's  jaws  snap.  The  yearlin's  tail 
warn't  draggin  lazy  now.  Hit  wer  stiff  strait  out,  way 
high  up,  an'  sweepin  the  air  clar  ove  insex,  all  roun  the 
yard.     Jis'  then  I  wudn't  a- tuck  ten  dullers  fur  my  dorg. 

"  '  Baw  aw  /'  sez  dad. 

"  '  Yearlin  fur  the  yeath,  adzackly  Yu  mocks  thai 
voice  better  nur  yu  dus  thar  kickin,'  sez  I. 


DAD'S   DOG-SCHOOL.  285 

"  I  wer  disappinted,  fur  I  wer  listenin  fur  sum  durn'd 
plain  Inglish  frum  dad,  fur  Sugar  hed  got  hissef  a  steel- 
trap  holt  ontu  the  pint  ove  his  snout,  an'  his  upper-lip. 
Nose  tu  nose  they  wer,  an'  no  jearlin  skin  atwixt,  not 
a  durn'd  inch  es  I  cud  see.  Dad's  ole  warty  snout  wer 
pull'd  out  tu  a  pint,  like  or.tu  a  mad  bar's,  an'  es  taper, 
an'  red  an'  sharp  es  a  beet.  The  lip  wer  straiched  es 
fur  onder  hit,  like  ontu  a  shovil-plow,  ur  a  store- 
keeper's tin  coffee-scoop,  a-ketchin  red  gravy  frum  the 
snout.  Great  golly !  how  sweet  hit  mus'  a-hurt,  hit 
makes  my  snout  itch  now. 

"  'Ka-ka-a!'  sed  Sugar,  leanin  way  back,  an'  wallin 
his  eye  up  at  me.  Dad  leaned  way  forrid,  an'  they 
swap't  sides  ove  the  yard  faster  nur  folks  turns  in  a 
dance,  an'  the  tail  a-keepin  every  durn'd  fly  an'  gnat 
outen  the  yard  fur  six  foot  high.  Jis'  then  I  wudn't 
a-tuck  twenty  dullers  fur  my  dorg. 

"  The  childer  all  yell'd,  an'  sed  '  Sick  'im ;'  they  tho't 
hit  wer  all  gwine  jis'  es  dad  wanted,  the  durn'd  littil 
fools.     Sugar  wagg'd  his  tail,  an'  roun  they'd  fly  agin. 

"  I  hearn  a  new  soun  in  the  thicket,  an'  hit  bein  Sun- 
day, I  wer  sorter  'spectin  a  retribushun  ove  sum  nater. 
I  look'd  that  way,  an'  there  I  seed  the  bald  aind  ove 
Squire  Hanley's  ole  Sunday  hoss,  a-pushin  hits  way 
thru  the  chinkepin  bushes,  the  Squire  hissef  up  on 
daik,  a-steerin  wif  wun  hand,  an'  a-fendin  off  the  lims 
an'  burrs  wif  tuther.  Thinks  I,  thar,  by  golly  !  yere'a 
a  regular  two  hundred  an'  twenty-five  poun  retribu 


286  dad's  dog-school. 

shun,  arter  us,  an'  our  famerly  devarsliun  sure  enu^ 
armed  wif  a  hyme  book,  an'  loaded  tu  the  muzzil  wif 
brimstone,  bilin  pitch,  forkid  flames,  an'  sich  uthel 
nicitys  es  makes  up  the  devil's  brekfus',  an'  sum  ove 
hit  am  gwine  tu  be  ladled  out  tu  us,  rite  now,  ef  the 
Squire's  face  am  tu  be  trusted  es  a  sign.  Hit  looked 
jis'  like  he'd  swaller'd  a  terbacker-wum,  dipp'd  in 
aquafortis,  an'  cudn't  vomit.  Even  his  pius  ole  hoss 
show'd  a  grieved  spirit  frum  foretop  tu  lip  A  appertite 
tu  run  began  tu  gnaw  my  stumick,  an'  I  felt  my  face 
a-swellin  wif  shame.  I  wer  shamed  ove  dad,  shamed 
ove  mam's  bar  laigs  an'  open  collar,  shamed  ove  mysefj 
an'  dam,  ef  I  minds  right,  ef  I  warn't  a  mossel  shamed 
ove  the  pup.  But  when  I  seed  the  squar,  blazin  look 
mam  met  him  wif,  I  made  up  my  mine  ef  she  cud  stan 
the  stcrrm,  I  cud,  an'  so  T  didn't  run  that  time — nara 
durn'd  step. 

"  Square  Hanley  wer  one  ove  the  wonderfulest  men 
in  all  my  knowin.  He  wore  a  hat  ten  years,  an'  wore 
a  nail  in  the  chuch  wall  bright,  a-hangin  hit  on.  He 
wore  a  holler  spot  in  the  side  ove  his  walkin-stick,  wif 
his  finger  alkr^  tetchin  the  same  place,  an'  he  wore 
anuther  greasy  holler  in  one  ove  the  groanin  bainches, 
ni  ontu  the  noth  corner  ove  the  pulpit,  jis'  like  the  sit- 
tin  hole  in  a  shoemaker's  stool,  only  hit  warn't  lined 
wif  leather.  His  pea-sticks  wer  shod  wif  spikes,  hia 
fire  wood  wer  clar  ove  knots  es  wiggen  timber,  hia 
hens  never  laid  on  a  Sarvdav,  ?n'  cot  Tbej»  he  told  em 


dad's  dog-school.  287 

to.  He  gin  the  hole  ove  Sunday  tu  the  Lord,  an' 
shaved  notes  two  days  onder  the  skin  ove  weekly  days, 
an'  allers  made  the  feller  what  got  shaved,  wait  an'  git 
prayed  for,  an'  he  throw'd  intn  the  bargin  a  track  ur 
two,  about  the  vanity  ove  layin  up  store  goods  on 
yeath,  fur  the  moths  et  the  broadcloths,  an'  the  thieves 
stole  tuther  things.  He  toted  the  munny-puss  ove  the 
chuch,  an'  histed  the  tchunes  an'  the  backsliders.  He 
wer  secon  enjineer  ove  a  mersheen,  made  outen  a  mess 
ove  sturgeon-backed,  sandy-heeled  ole  maids,  devarsed 
wives,  ur  wimen  what  orter  been  wun  ur  tuther ;  an' 
uther  thin  minded  pussons,  fur  the  pupus,  es  they  sed, 
ove  squelch  in  sin  in  the  neighborhood,  amung  sich 
domestic  heathins  es  us,  but  raley  fur  the  mindin  gin- 
er'lly  ove  everybody  else's  bisness.  I  forgot  tu  menshun 
his  nose ,  hit  wer  his  markin  feetur ;  no  uther  mortil 

V 

ever  hed  heart  tu  tote  jis'  sich  anuther  nose.  The  skin 
ofen  hit  wud  a-kivered  a  saddil,  an'  wer  jis'  the  rite 
culler  fur  the  job,  an'  the  holes  looked  like  the  bow- 
ports  ove  a  gun-boat.  He  waded  in  onst  tu  stop  a  big 
fite  at  muster,  in  a  Christian  way,  an'  a  feller  broke  a 
dorg-wood  hanspike  ur  a  chesnut  fence-rail,  I'se  forgot 
which,  acrost  that  nose,  an'  twenty-seven  bats,  an'  I 
three  kingfishers  flew  outen  hit.  The  lick  only  made 
the  Squire  blow  hit  tolabil  strong,  scatterin  roun  a  peck 
ove  cobwebs,  an'  muddauber's  nestes,  an'  he  went  on 
a-stopin  ove  the  fite.  He  wer  on  his  way  tu  chuch  that 
mornin,   an'  hearin   orful    souns.    he   struck   thru    the 


288  dad's  dog-school. 

bushes  tu  'zamine  intu  hit,  bein  bis  juty  es  greaser  ove 
tbe  squelchin  s'ciety. 

"  His  boss  wer  ove  a  pius  turn  ove  mine,  ur  ole 
Haney  wund't  a-keep  bim  a  day.  Nobody  ever  seed 
bim  kick,  gallop,  jump  a  fence,  smell  utber  bosses,  ur 
chaw  a  bridil.  He  wer  never  beam  squeal,  belch,  ur 
make  eny  onsightly  soun,  an'  'side  all  them  marks,  he 
bed  scabs  ontu  bis  knees  an'  mud  on  his  snout.  Mine 
yu,  I  speaks  ove  the  karacter  ove  tbe  hoss  afore,  an'  up 
tu  arter  breakfus'  that  Sunday  mornin,  nuffin  more,  fur 
I  show'd  him  that  day  tu  be  es  durn'd  a  ole  hiperkrit 
es  ever  toted  a  saddil,  ur  a  hyme  book.  His  wickid 
kareer  ainded  in  a  tan-vat  an'  the  buzzards  clean'd  his 
bones.  That  orful  Sunday  shook  even  the  Squire's 
b'lief  on  sum  pints  ove  herearter.  He  now  thinks,  they 
orter  take  folks  in  hell,  like  they  dus  intu  chuch,  six 
months  on  trial,  an'  that  the  vartue  ove  the  thing  be 
tried  imejuntly  on  me,  an'  mam.  He  b'leves  we'd 
bof  make  'tarnity  members  easy. 

"  He  rid  up  tu  tbe  fence  keerfully,  drap't  tbe  reins, 
hilt  up  his  bans,  an'  sez  he — 

"  '  Furgivin  Father  abuv !  what's  am  yu  tormentin 
them  ar  two  varmints  fur,  on  the  Lord's  Holy  Sabbath  ? 
Say,  O  ye  onregenerits,  whar'  the  patriark  ove  this  de- 
praved famerly  ?' 

"  'Look  a-yere,  Squire  Haney,'  sez  mam,  'I'se  hits 
patriark  jis'  now ;  mos'  ove  the  time  I'se  hits  tail,  I 
knows,  but  one  thing  sure,  yu'd  bes'  trot  along  tu  jet 


dad's  dog-school.  289 

meetin.  This  am  a  privit  soshul  famerly  'musement  an' 
hit  needs  no  wallin  up  ove  eyes,  mir  groanin,  nur 
secon  han  low-quartered  pray'rs  tu  make  hit  purfeck, 
'sides,  we's  got  no  notes  tu  shave,  nur  gals  ole  enuf  tu 
convart,  so  yu'  better  jis'  go  way  wif  yer  four-laig'd, 
bal-faced  pulpit,  an'  preach  tu  sich  es  yersef,  sum 
else ;  go  'long  Squire,  that's  a  good  feiler. ' 

"  I'd  pull'd  a  big  jimsin  burr,  an'  hilt  hit  up  so  mam 
cud  see  hit,  a-moshunin  to'ards  ole  Ball-eye's  tail. 
Mam  nodded  her  head.  So  while  the  Squire  wer 
sarchin  a  packet  ove  tracks,  fur  one  against  devilmint 
ove  Sundays,  I  sneak'd  up  ahine  'im.  Sez  mam  es  saft 
an'  sweet  es  ef  I  wer  a  sick  baby — 

"  '  Sutty,  my  darlint,  jis'  start  the  Squire's  hoss  thar 
5ir  'im.  I'se  fear'd  he'll  be  late  fur  meetin,  speshully 
ef  he  stops  at  Missis  G-ivinses.'  (Yere  he  gin  mam  a 
look  frum  onder  his  hat-brim,  what  spoke  dam  yure  ole 
soul,  jis'  es  plain  es  ef  the  cussinest  man  in  the  county 
hed  hollered  hit.)  Start  him  easy  my  son,  so  es  not  tu 
jostil  the  ole  man's  breakfus',  hit .  mout  sour  on  his 
stumick  ;  poor  ole  critter,  he's  colikey  an'  ailin  enyhow, 
ef  his  looks  don't  lie. '  I  say  ailin  ;  he  only  pull'd  down 
four  greasy  fifty-sixes,  an'  ef  yu'd  a-twisted  his  sweaty 
neck-hankecher  mtu  a  rope,  hit  'ud  burn  like  a  torch. 

"  I  planted  the  burr  high  up  onder  ole  Ball-eye's  tail, 

an"  he  clamp't  hit  clost  instantly.     'Bout  the  time  he'd 

squeezed  hit  tu  the  hurtin  pint,  I'd  dun  busted  a  four 

foot,  white-oak  clap-board  plum  open,  atwixt  the  root 

13 


DAD  8   DOG-SCHOOL. 

.  ove  his  tail,  an'  the  Squire's.  The  shock  brot  his 
tail  warter  tite  atwixt  his  laigs,  an'  every  stickei 
on  the  burr  wer  buried  tu  the  butt  in  hoss-meat,  ui 
hoss-tail. 

"He  kicked  one  pupendicler  kick,  es  high  es  the 
cabin  chimly.  I  seed  the  hole  laingth  ove  his  belly 
even  tu  the  susingil  buckil  frum  behine,  an'  sure  enuf 
I  hearn  the  Squire's  coffee  sloshin  his  chaw'd  chickin 
an'  hard  biled  aigs  'bout  pow'ful. 

"  '  Wo  yu !  sirr,'  sez  he. 

"  'That  ar  las'  observashun  am  no  use,  Mister 
Haney,'  sez  I.     Anuther  kick  strait  up  at  the  sun. 

"  '"Wo  yu  orful  ole  fool.'     Sez  I — 

"  '  He  can't  wo,  Squire,  he's  a-gittin  happy,  an'  that's 
hoss  way  ove  shoutin.' 

"  Atwixt  the  kicks,  he'd  rise  all  fours  frum  the  yeath, 
'bout  a  foot,  bouncin  way,  an'  lite  in  the  same  tracks, 
a-sweatin  roun  the  eyes,  wif  a  snort  fur  every  bounce 
an'  a  grunt  wif  every  kick.  Then  he  made  a  gudgeon 
ove  his  fore  laigs,  an'  kicked  a  plum  suckil  wif  his  hine 
ones.  Ef  the  air  cud  be  printed  on,  yu'd  a-seed  a  ring 
ove  hoss  shoe  marks,  twenty  foot  acrost,  eleving  high, 
an'  jis'  'bout  a  han  an'  a  half  apart,  heels  all  pintin  tu 
the  center. 

"The  Squire  got  a  good  pullin  holt  wif  wun  han, 
ontu  the  crupper,  an'  a-pushin  wun  wif  tuther,  in  the 
mane,  while  he  sot  his  stirrips  'way  forrid  apas'  Ball- 
eye's  bitts.     Hit  kep  me  pow'ful  bizzy  tu  watch  the 


dad's  dog-school.  291 

dorg  makin  an'  ole  Haney's  happy  hoss,  bof  on  em  wer 
makin  things  happin  so  durnashun  fas'. 

"  '  Trus'  freely  in  heving  Squire  es  long  es  crupper 
holt  lasts.  I  think  hit' 11  hold  a  hour  ur  so  yet,  fur  I 
see  the  pint  ove  his  tail  laid  clost  tu  his  belly  a-tetchin 
the  girth,'  sez  mam. 

"  £  Then  pick  a  spot  bar  ove  rocks  fur  yure  profile  tu 
strike,'  sez  I.  That  wer  a  pow'ful  cumfurtin  remark 
ove  mine,  an'  wer  soun  doctrin  too,  warn't  hit? 

"  '  Wo !  wo  !  sirr,  (a  kick)  yu  blasted  fool,  (a  kick)  wo  ! 

I  say,  yu  in '  (a  kick.)     Thinks  I,  thar  that  ar  kick 

wer  a  interpersision,  fur  hit  kep  the  Squire  frum  plain 
cussin.     '  Sum  ove  yu  (a  kick)  ketch  hes  bitts,  (a  kick.) 

"  '  Better  pray  fur  a  anvil  tu  cleave  ontu  his  tail,  a 
jockdolagin  big  anvil,'  sez  mam.  '  Hit'll  cum  if  yu  ax 
hit,  yea  verily.' 

"  Jis'  then  Ball-eye  findin  his  inimy  tu  be  kick-proof, 
Jiis  faith  gin  out.  He  tuck  a  skeer,  an'  sot  intu  gittin 
away,  in  a  style  no  hoss  ever  used  afore.  The  gait  he 
picked  out  fur  the  'casion,  warn't  jis'  the  thing  fur 
leavin  wrath,  ur  tribulashun  wif,  I  don't  think;  thar 
warn't  enuf  strait  ahead  leavin  in  hit,  hit  wer  a  'sort- 
mint  made  up  ove  dromedary  gallop,  snake  slidin,  side 
windin,  an'  ole  Firginey  jig,  tetched  off  wif  a  sprinkil 
ove  quadrille,  step't  off  infunely  fas'  fur  a  pius-minded 
hoss  on  a  Sunday.  'Bout  every  thuty  yards,  he'd  mix 
in  a  kick,  aimed  at  the  back  ove  the  Squire's  head 
Es  soon  es  he  farely  started,  mam  hollered — 


292  dad's  dog-school. 

"  '  Squire,  when  yu  calls  far  the  anvil,  moutent  hit 
be  es  well  tu  ax  fur  a  lockchain,  an'  a  interpersition, 
too.  Yu  don't  know  what  mout  happen ;  them's  orful 
strange  moshuns  he's  a-makin  fur  a  pius  hoss.' 

"  Ole  Haney  hed  grabbed  his  bridil  fur  stoppin  ur 
steerin  puposes,  his  hat  wer  jam'd  fast  on  the  back  ove 
his  short  fat  naik,  an'  cock'd  sharp  up  ahine  his  years, 
red  es  a  cock's  comb,  sot  squar  out  onder  the  rim.  His 
elbows  an'  toes  wer  wide  apart,  like  his  hoss  wer  red 
hot,  an'  durn'd  ef  I  don't  b'leve  he  wer. 

"  The  las'  words  I  hearn  the  Squire  menshun  es  he 
went  outen  site  wer,  '  Now  I  lay  me  down  tu  sleep.' 

"  Thinks  I,  that's  a  clost  shot  fur  a  off-han  prayer  wif 
wet  powder,  but  hit  am  aimed  at  the  wrong  hoard.  A 
man  mus'  a-had  a  pow'ful  soun  conshunce  tu  a-slept  on 
es  wide  awake  a  hoss  es  ole  Haney  hed  atwixt  his  fat 
laigs — a  clar  fall  frum  grace  that  hoss  wer. 

"  The  engineer  ove  the  sin  squelshin  mersheen  wer 
foun  that  arternoon  in  the  lauril,  amung  the  rocks  on 
the  krick,  an'  every  way  fur  thuty  foot,  the  groun  wer 
paper'd  wif  tracks,  an'  notes  ove  han.  He  wer  hauled 
home  ontu  a  ox  slide ;  Ball-eye  wer  sole  at  public  out- 
cry nex  day  at  cort  fur  backslidin  an'  fallin  frum  grace 
an'  fotch  one  dullar  an'  eighty  cents,  on  'count  ove  his 
hide  an'  shoes.  The  burr  wer  sole  an'  delivered  wif  'im 
still  sunk  onder  his  tail. 

"  The  fust  words  I  noticed  cumin  frum  dad,  arte* 
Squire  Haney  lef  us  in  that  ar  mos'  onnatral  an'  on- 
manerly  way,  wer — 


dad's  dog-school.  293 

"  'Oke  e  'urn'd  'up  'oose,'  sez  dad. 

"His  talk  wer  changin  frum  yearlin  tu  human,  an' 
hed  got  'bout  naif  way.  He  ment  hit  fur  chok  the 
durn'd  pup  loose,  but  I  jis'  minded  my  orders,  '  Sick 
'im  on  an'  du  nufan  else,'  an'  I  did  hit  like  a  man. 

"Dad's  tail  flew  frum  the  door  tu  the  gate,  then 
Sugar's  tail  new  frum  the  door  tu  the  gate,  then  frum 
the  gate  roun  back  agin,  a  constunt  swappin  ove  places, 
an'  nobody  pleas'd ;  right  peart  ove  dus'  too.  Jis'  then 
I  wudn't  a-tuck  thuty  dullars  fur  my  dorg. 

"  '  Oke  'e  'up  'od  'am  yure    'oles.' 

"  Oh,  durnashun !  thinks  I.  I  wer  mistaken  'bout 
a-changin  ove  tungs,  that's  good  plain  Inglish,  wif  the 
trimmins,  wantin  nufnn  but  the  use  ove  the  upper  lip. 
I  minded  my  fust  orders — '  Sick  'im  Sugar.' 

"  The  snout  ove  the  hide  what  wer  tied  back  on  the 
naik,  worked  sorter  loose,  an'  the  fold  hung  down 
on  dad's  an'  Sugar's  snouts,  an'  my  onregenerit  dad 
wer  blinefolded.  The  ho'ns  hung  dolefully  loose  at 
each  side  ove  his  head,  like  they  were  tired  ove  the 
dorg. 

"  Mam  kept  watchin  thar  moshuns  pow'ful  clost, 
Sez  she — 

"  ' Sut,  that  ar  dorg's  holt  won't  break,  will  hit?' 

"  '  Not,'  sez  I,  '  onless  dad's  nose's  rotten.' 

"  '  Thar  is  sum  onsartinty  'bout  hits  bein  soun,  he's 
soaked  hit  so  much  in  sperrits,'  sed  mam,  an'  she 
Studied  a  minnit,  wif  her  finger  ontu  her  lip.     '  I'll  risk 


V 


294  dad's  dog-school. 

hits  tarin,  enyhow,'  sed  she.  'I  never  will  furgive 
mysef  ef  I  lets  this  chance  slip.' 

"  She  got  the  bean-pole,  spit  in  her  hans,  clar'd  the 
chips  frum  onder  her  wif  her  feet,  an'  as  the  two  var- 
mints flew  roun  agin,  she  riz  on  her  tip-toes,  an'  fotch 
down  the  pole  wif  bof  hans  frum  way  up  yander,  an' 
laid  'bout  four  foot  ove  the  aind  es  strait  es  a  line  frum 
the  root  ove  the  hide's  tail  tu  the  ho'ns.  Hit  sounded 
like  bustin  open  a  dry  poplar  log  ;  raised  a  stripe  ove 
dus'  tu  the  top  ove  the  har,  four  inches  wide,  an'  hit 
smoked  all  along  thar,  like  hit  wer  afire.  I  jis'  tho't 
jewhillikins  'bout  twiste. 

"  Dad  squalled  low  onder  hit,  like  a  sore-back  hoss 
when  yu'se  a-mountin,  an'  es  he  flew  roun  agin,  sez  he — > 

"  '  'Ell  'ire  an'  'amnashun,  'ot's  'at?'     Sez  I— 

"  '  Nuffin ;  but  yu're  knock'd  down  the  martin's 
gourd-pole,  an'  spilt  the  yung'uns.' 

"  He  tried  tu  rise  tu  the  human  way  ove  standin, 
but  the  tassil  a-hangin  tu  his  smeller  were  too  heavy, 
an'  the  holt  wer  es  tender  es  a  sore  eye.  Jis'  then  I 
wudn't  a-tuck  forty  dullars  fur  my  dorg.     Sez  he — 

" '  'Am  'e  'artin  'ord  'ole,  an'  'e  'unyuns  'oo.' 

"  Then  he  tried  sum  fust  rate  overhanded  knockin 
wif  fas'  one  fore  laig,  an'  then  tuther.  He  made  the 
loose  huffs  rattil  over  Sugar's  rump,  but  he  jis'  sed 
•  Ka !  a,'  an'  surged  back  tu  his  snout-pullin,  an'  roun 
an'  roun  they  fly  agin.  "What  the  devil  they  'spected 
tu  gain  by  that,  I  can't  fur  the  life  ove  me  tell,  but  they 


DAD  S   DOG-SCHOOL. 


295 


seem'd  tu  be  greed  'bout  hit  enyhow,  fur  every  time 
Sugar  started,  dam  ef  dad  didn't  start  too,  so  quick  yu 
cudn't  say  which  made  the  fas'  moshun.  The  solt 
mix'd  wif  sweat,  wer  one  ove  dad's  reasons  fur  not 
6tayin  still  much,  I  sorter  think,  an'  a  tender  nose 
made  'im  foller  Sugar's  lead  quick.  ISTow,  warn't  hit  a 
hell  ove  a  fix  fur  a  ill-natered  cuss  like  dad,  hu  allers 
wud  hev  his  own  way,  tu  be  in?  Every  time  that  my 
dad's  tail  cum  to'ards  mam,  down  cum  the  bean-pole, 
sure  es  suarise,  cherow  !  soundin  an'  lookin  like  beatin 
carpets,  an'  feelin  like  splittin  a  body's  back -bone  wif  a 
dull  axe. 

"Dad.  bli lie-folded  es  he  wer,  soon  larntthe  place  in 
his  sarkit  vhar  the  licks  fell,  an'  by  the  jumpin  Jinny 
he'd  cummence  squattin  afore  he  got  thar. 

"  I  dunno  how  hit  wer  adzacly,  but  the  wind  sum- 
how  gethered  atwixt  the  hary  side  ove  dad's  hide,  an' 
the  raw  side  ove  the  yearlin's ;  an'  every  lick  mam 
isshood  tu  'im  wif  that  ar  never-tire  bean-pole,  hit 
wud  bust  out  at  the  sowin,  pow'ful  suddin,  soundin  loud 
an'  doleful.     Mam  smiled  every  time  she  hearn  hit. 

"  '  That  ar  yearlin  mus'  a-hed  the  colic  afore  hit  wer 
kill'd,'  sed  sis  Callimy  Jane.  She's  allers  sayin  sum 
durn'd  fool  thing,  hevin  no  barin  on  the  case. 

"  '  Oh,  hush,  yu  littil  narrer-tail'd  tucky  hen,'  sed 
brother  Benton,  '  hits  the  onexpectedness  ove  the  cumin 
ove  that  ar  bean-pole.'  '  Ur  the  tetchin  sensashun 
arter  hit  dus  cum,'  sed  I  mysef. 


DADS  DOG-SCHOOL. 

"  Mam  also  tuck  time  tu  spar  Bent  a  fust  rate  tetcn 
wif  her  pole,  cradlin  fashun !  He  went  flyin  outen  his 
tracks  over  the  fence,  wif  his  hans  flat  ontu  his  starn, 
Es  he  lit  in  the  weeds,  sez  he — 

"  '  I  wer  right,  by  golly !  hit  am  the  pole  what  dus 
hit' 

"  Callimy  Jane,  who  wer  a-lookin  at  Bent  while  he  wer 
up  in  the  air,  like  she  wer  a-listnin,  chirped  out,  'An 
so  wer  I.'  I  tho't  mysef  I  hearn  Bent's  gallus  but- 
tons bust  off.  Jis'  es  he  started  up,  he  shet  his  mouth, 
jis'  in  time  tu  ketch  his  heart. 

"  Cherow !  cum  that  eternil  wollopin  pole  down  agin, 
along  dad.     He  farely  bawl'd — 

"  '  'On't  'et  up  'at  'artin'  ole  eny  'ore,  yu  'am  'ules.' 
Sez  I— 

"  '  I  haint  sot  the  martin-pole  up  one  time.  Hits 
mam  what  keeps  a-settin  hit  up,  an'  hit  won't  stay 
up.' 

"  '  Quit,  yu  'am  'itch,  an'  let  'e  'ole  lie,'  sez  dad. 

"  '  Thar  hit  lies,'  answered  mam,  es  she  fotch  hit  down 
along  his  back  anuther  rale  saftnin  swallop.  The  dus' 
hed  quite  risin  now,  outen  that  ar  skin.     Sez  I — 

"  '  Stan  hit  dad,  stan  hit  like  a  man ;  hit  may  be  a 
littil  hurtin  tu  yu,  but  dam  ef  hit  ain't  the  makin  ove 
the  pup.  Stay  wif  that  hide,  Sugar,  my  boy,  yu'se 
mity  ni  a  deplomer'd  dorg.' 

"Dad  begun  tu.  totter  on  his  hine  laigs;  his  sturn 
warn't  way  up  yander,  like  hit  wer  when  he  fust  open'd 


dad's  dog-school.  297 

the  dorg-school.  Hit  wer  down  'bout  levil  wif  his 
shoulders,  an'  he  wer  a-cumin  tu  his  knees  pow'ful  fas' 
behine.  I  seed  his  tail  a-trimblin,  a  mons'ous  bad 
sign  in  ho'ned  cattil.  Dad  ax'd  ef  hit  wan't  twelve 
o'clock?  Jis'  then  I  wudn't  a-tuck  fifty  dullers  fur 
my  dorg.     I  felt  like  he  wer  ni  about  made. 

"  When  Sal  hed  got  dun  so  win  up  dad,  he  started  her 
tu  the  still-hous'  arter  a  jug  ove  Spanish  fly  whisky,  tu 
made  happy  cum  arter  he  let  out  his  dorg-school,  an' 
she  jis'  now  got  back,  tuck  a  look  at  the  case  es  hit 
stood,  an'  got  mad.     Sez  she — 

"  '  Yu  durn'd  yaller  son  ove  a  b — h,  III  break  yer 
holt'  She  flung  down  the  jug,  an'  snatched  the  axe. 
SezI— 

"  '  Mine,  Sal,  whatever  yu  du,  don't  yu  cut  the  dorg. 
He's  'bout  made ;  be  keerful  how  yu  place  yer  licks.' 

"  '  Aim  fur  the  ho'ns  my  darter,'  sed  mam. 

"  Yere  she  cum,  wif  a  vigrus  overhandid  splitter, 
aidge  foremos',  aim'd  tu  fall  atwixt  Sugar's  years  ;  but 
he  yerk'd  back  a  littil  es  the  lick  cum,  an'  hit  went 
thru  the  dubil  ove  the  hide,  skelpin  a  piece  ove  skin 
ofen  dad's  forrid,  'bout  es  big  es  a  duller,  kept  on  an' 
sliced  off  Sugar's  two  smellin  holes  a  half  inch  thick. 
Then  hit  tuck  a  chunk  ofen  dad's  snout,  'bout  the 
size  an'  culler  ove  a  black  hart  cherry.  Then  hit  went 
littil  lower  an'  kerried  along  a  new  moon  ofen  dad's 
upper  lip,  an'  a  littil  ove  Sugar's  lower  lip,  an  dad's 
fore  finger  pint,  kept  on  down,  tuck  one  ove  Sugar's 
*13 


298  dad's  dog-school. 

fore  paws  clean,  a  yearlin's  huff,  an'  then  pass'd  on  intu 
the  yeath,  up  tu  the  helve,  an'  thar  hit  stop't.  Sea 
Sal— 

"  '  Thar,  durn  yu  /' 

"Sugar  keeled  over  one  way,  an'  dad  tuther.  One 
fainted  stiff,  an'  tuther  ruinated  furever,  es  a  dorg.  I'd 
a-tuck  a  raggid  counterfit  dullar  on  a  wile  cat-bank  fur 
him  now.  That  wer  the  liveliest  Sunday  I  ever  seed 
at  home. 

"  I  cried  rite  peart,  tho',  es  I  flung  a  big  rock  wif  a 
strip  ove  bark  tied  roun  hit  intu  the  ho'net  hole  in  the 
crick  that  night." 

"  What  made  you  cry,  Sut,  was  it  your  father's  con- 
dition?" 

"  Father's  con-durnashun.  I  furgot  tu  menshun  that 
Sugar  wer  fas'  tu  tuther  aind  ove  that  ar  strip  ove  bark. 
Who  wanted  a  three-footed  dorg,  wif  no  smellin  holes  ? 
I  didn't.  He  wer  the  mos'  pufeckly  spiled  pup  in  the 
makin  I  ever  hearn  tell  ove.  Mout  a-lookt  fur  a  gin- 
eral  durn'd  momoxin  ove  things  tho',  when  dad  tuck 
the  job  wif  Squire  Haney  tu  help. 

"  Boys,  I'se  sleepy  now ;  yere's  wishin  (Sut  raised  on 
his  elbow  and  held  up  his  flask  to  the  light)  yu  all 
good  dreams,  an'  yu,  George,  may  yu  dream  ove  ownin 
three  never-failin  springs,  so  clost  tugether  yu  kin  lay 
on  yure  belly  an'  reach  em  all — the  biggis'  wun  run- 
nin  ole  whisky,  the  middil  one  strained  honey,  an'  the 
leas'  an'  las' — cold  warter.  wif  nara  '  natral  born  durn'd 


dad's  dog-school.  299 

fool  in  two  miles  tu  bother  yu,  an'  when  yu  wake  tip, 
may  yn  fine  hit  tu  be  a  mortal  fac'. 

"  Es  tu  me,  ef  I  kin  jis'  miss  dreamin  ore  hell  ur  ole 
Bullin's  all  I  ax.  Sum  one  ove  yu  moue  that  ar  saddil 
down  yander,  by  the  corner  ove  the  camp,  further  out 
en  the  way  ove  my  laigs.  Now  le's  snore  sum ;  blc^v 
ont  the  light" 


THE   END. 


hf~ 


Dick  &  Fitzgerald, 

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|  Friendly  Meetings. 

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This  work  includes  an  instructive  dissertation  on  *he  Art  of  making  amusing  After-dinnaf 
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Dick's  Parlor  Exhibitions,  and  How  to  Make  them  Successful.  Con- 
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Tableaux  Vivants, 
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Dame  History's  Peep  Show. 
Shadow  Pantomimes. 


Popular  Ballads  illustrated  by 

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Punch  and  Judy, 


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Lester's  "Look  to  the  East  "  (Webb  Work).    A  Ritual  of  the  First 

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Opening  and  Closing  the  Lodge  in  Each 

Degree. 
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The  Lectures  all  Kitually  and  Monitorially 
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Master  and  the  Royal  Arch.  By  Malcolm  C.  Duncan.  Explained  and  Interpreted  by 
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Beard's  Painting  On  China.      What  to  Paint  and  How  to  Paint  it.     A 

Hand-Book  of  Practical  Instruction  in  Overglaze  Painting,  for  the  Use  of  Amateurs  in 
the  Decoration  of  Hard  Porcelain.  By  James  C.  Beard.  A  book  of  elaborate  infor- 
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h/ 


